


Twilight

by ashinae, jay_linden



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitute, F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-18
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 08:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinae/pseuds/ashinae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jay_linden/pseuds/jay_linden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wasn't trolling for a hooker. I just happened to bump into one."</p><p>Warnings: prostitution, dub-con, mention and aftermath of rape (by original, not canon, characters).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a chill in the air. He had the collar of the trench coat turned up over his neck. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket to glance at the time; one-thirty a.m. The bartender had cut him off; he wasn't even all that drunk, but he'd been there since shortly after dinnertime.

He was drunk enough, and distracted enough, that he nearly bowled over the short woman with the black bob haircut.

"Careful there," the woman said, reaching out to steady him--and herself--since the heels she was wearing were so high, they weren't exactly stable. "You in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"Home," he said. He tried to eye her, but couldn't see her very well in the dark; except that it was pretty obvious how she was dressed. "You must be cold."

"Not especially," she shrugged, then smiled up at him, moving in a little bit closer. "Why? Need something to warm you up?"

"I could do. You're offering?" he said, voice rough, slurred.

"I'm offering," she whispered, nice and low, tongue sliding over her blood red lips. "Special introductory rates apply."

"That's awfully generous of you. You'll forgive me, though, if I don't have any place to take you." He eyed her. She had nice legs. That was enough.

"Tell me what you want and give me the money, and I'll find us a place... if you're not fussy about location," she smiled, rubbing up against him just enough to tease, and gauge his interest. Making sure he wasn't too drunk to fuck.

"Just a fuck," he said. "It's a little past my bedtime." He reached for his wallet and pulled out a bit of cash, which he shoved into her shirt and under her bra strap.

"I won't keep you up too long," she promised, winking, then stepping out in front of him and leading the way, looking over her shoulder a time or two to make sure he was still with her. Not that they were going far--just a block away from the bar, halfway down a dimly lit alley.

He watched her hips move in the dark. She was little, but she had curves. He approved. Inside the alley, he crowded her back against the brick wall of a building. "Condom?" he asked, even as he hiked her skirt up.

"Another twenty bucks, you can have me without it... otherwise check the other side of my bra," she told him, taking a step to the side and spreading her legs wider, once he had the skirt up over her hips.

He considered it. He seriously considered it. But he pulled the condom from under her bra strap, and hurriedly rolled it on. "Up you get," he said, and lifted her up; not entirely carefully, shoving her hard against the wall even as he pushed inside her. "Fuck..."

She cried out as he shoved in, her head going back as her legs came up and wrapped around his waist, hands resting on his shoulders. "Oh fuck, yes," she moaned, trying not to be too loud, since they were in public and all... the last thing they needed was to be overheard by cops.

It felt like it had been years since Nathan had a tight, hot pussy around his cock. He fucked her hard, harder than he'd use anyone, and he growled softly. It didn't matter what she thought about him, or this. He just wanted to get off.

Her legs tightened around his waist, her eyes closing as she moved with him, fucking him back, not caring how rough he was. Her breathing was ragged, eyes closing as she gasped out all the right words, swearing and pleading for more. She felt her back rubbing up against the wall, felt it scraping her skin, registering the pain of it and still not caring.

His teeth scraped over her neck and he grunted, fucking her harder, shoving in deep, and then he came with another growl. He held her there against the wall for a moment before he pulled back, setting her down not particularly gently.

She was still gasping when he put her back on the ground, reaching back and supporting herself against the wall while she got her footing. She looked up at him and smiled, pushing her hair back so it was out of her eyes. "Warmer now?"

"Yeah," he said, tucking himself back into his pants. "Thanks." He pulled out a few more bills from his wallet, and shoved them into her bra. "Get yourself a hot meal. There's a few twenty-four hour diners around."

She looked surprised by the kindness, almost as though she didn't know what to do or say. "Thank you," she said eventually, looking down, then back up again through her lashes. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Yeah," he said, eying her again. "It is. Gotta get home." But he didn't move, just stared at her.

She stared back, wondering if he was lost. "Just... back out the way we came in, then to the left, that'll get you back to the bar. You can call a cab from there," she prompted.

"Yeah?" He rubbed a hand over his beard. There was something strangely familiar about her, about the way she'd looked at him. She was too young for him to have gone to school with her; probably too young even to be one of Peter's classmates.

"Yeah," she nodded, taking a step or two closer to him. "Do you need me to call one for you?" She usually just walked away afterward, but he'd been... well, nice seemed a weird word, but he was looking a little out of it.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah, if you could do that for me..."

She frowned, then nodded, taking his arm and starting to lead him out of the alley, back into the light.

Once they were safely in the light, he grabbed her arm and yanked her close, staring down at her. He was drunk; he knew that, but he wasn't completely stupid. Or maybe he was... "Oh my God," he whispered.

"Hey!" she protested, trying to pull back, to get her arm free. "What are you doing--let go of me--you got what you paid for!" she hissed, glaring at him.

"Claire." He swallowed, didn't let go of her.

She stopped pulling and froze, a look of horror spreading across her face. "How do... how do you know that name?" she said hoarsely.

"We've met before," he said, gruffly. "I might have looked a little differently then, the last time you were here."

She shook her head. "No, I don't know you..." she started to say, then stopped, green eyes going shock wide. "Nathan," she whispered.

"What the--what the hell are you--" He'd just fucked Claire. In an alley. She... "Dear God."

With a sudden burst of strength, Claire wrenched her arm out of Nathan's grasp, crying out in pain since he'd been holding on tightly. Without another word, she turned around and started to run, almost knocking into a few people as she bolted down the street and away from him.

He was too drunk to catch her, so he didn't even try. He watched her go, frozen in stunned belief, getting more than a few stares. He flipped up the collar of the trench coat, shoved his hands in his pockets, and hurried away.

_Claire._

*


	2. Chapter 2

The last time Matt Parkman had seen Nathan Petrelli, Nathan had a beard that looked like it was about to completely engulf his face, and he'd been more than a little rumpled. But now he'd shaved, and he looked somewhat presentable.

"What is it, Parkman?" Nathan demanded.

God, this was going to be awkward to explain, which was why he hadn't gone into it on the phone. Which seemed idiotic now, since actually saying it to Nathan's face was going to be so much harder. Matt cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to have to disturb you, Mr. Petrelli, but something's come up, and... well, you were the only person I could think of to call."

"I'm flattered," Nathan said dryly. "So what's happened?"

"Does the name 'Astrid Sinclair' mean anything to you?" Matt was holding a file folder under his arm, keeping his voice low so the conversation was just between them.

Nathan shook his head. "Never heard it."

"Neither has anyone here, and she's not in the system. Which makes sense, because it's an alias. The booking officer suspects it, but can't prove it, but I know it." Matt paused again, taking a deep breath. "It's Claire Bennet. Bennet's daughter," he whispered. "I didn't recognize her when I busted her for... for solicitation. She looks completely different now, but it's her."

"Why didn't you call Noah Bennet, then?" Nathan asked. Stone cold neutral; he wasn't exactly surprised by this news, not what Matt had arrested her for, all things considered. It had been a few days; he hadn't been expecting this, and he wondered what in the hell he was supposed to do about it.

"I tried. He's dropped off the grid, I can't find him. I thought... I remembered, from... that night. You were talking to her." Matt was bleeding nearly to death with a bunch of bullet holes through him at the time, but he was sure he remembered that. "I thought maybe you'd know someone who could track them down, connections, something. I tried to get it from her, but it was a no-go. Stubborn kid."

"I'm not exactly sure who I can call for her if you can't find her family," Nathan said. "I don't think she has anybody else."

Matt sighed and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't take her home. There wasn't room in the apartment as it was, and he could just imagine the volume level Mohinder would reach if he brought a girl home who'd been busted for prostitution, even if it was the cheerleader. Not to mention trying to explain it to Molly. "I don't know either. I don't know what she's doing here. She's saying she's nineteen, which is a lie, but we can't prove otherwise, and she can't make bail."

Nathan frowned, rubbed a hand over his face. What was it with his family and getting arrested? "I can," he said. "Make bail for her."

"You'd do that? If I'd known who she was... but by the time I figured it out, she was already here, and it was too late to just stop the procedure, especially since they think she's under aged," Matt explained. "She wouldn't say where she was staying, but I got that at least... it's a hotel. Really classy place, rents by the month, week, day, or hour."

"Huh. Well, I'll be sure to keep an eye on her. I mean, can we do that? Just... I'll post bail, and see what I can do to help her out. Can we just make that happen?"

"You get her out, and I'll find a way to 'lose' her paperwork and fingerprints," Matt murmured, even more quietly. "It's not her real name anyway, so... it's worth it. Something's got to be wrong, Bennet gone, his kid... I still can't believe it's her. The first time I saw her, back in Texas, it was in a police station. Right after your b-" Matt cut himself off before he could say the word 'brother', shifting quickly. "She was so young, with that long blonde hair. She doesn't look the same at all, and it's not just the haircut and dye job. She's changed."

Nathan nodded, slowly. "Like I said, I'll see what I can do to help her. Hopefully there's something I can do for her. Poor kid..."

"Thanks... I appreciate it. And maybe between us we can figure out where her family is, and... I don't know, sort out what happened. Get her home." Wherever home was. Matt had watched Claire's home in Odessa burn to the ground. "I'll get them to get you the paperwork, while I go get Claire." He handed Nathan the folder he was holding. "Her mug shot... just so you'll know who she is when you see her. Like I said, she looks pretty different."

Nathan looked, and nodded, though he already knew. "Thanks, Parkman. Detective," he corrected. Might as well be a little more polite. And God only knew what he was going to do once Claire was with him.

He watched Parkman walk away, and tried hard not to think about that night in the alley.

*

They'd taken her shoes away. Apparently five inch platform heels were considered a weapon when you were in jail. Claire'd kept to the back of the holding cell that officer--detective--Parkman had left her in. He'd arranged for her to be on her own, not that she cared. It wasn't like anyone could hurt her anyway.

He hadn't said anything to her that she'd felt was worth listening to when he came to let her out, so she just kept ignoring him, doing the best she could to keep her mind blank, and when she couldn't, she sang in her mind. Loudly. She followed after him, stopping to sign for her things and slipping back into her shoes again, counting the money they handed her before she stuffed it back into her bra. "Can I go now?" she said rudely.

"Of course, Miss Sinclair," Nathan said from behind her. "You'll be coming with me, though."

Claire whipped around to look at Nathan, staring at him for a moment or two before she turned to glare at Parkman. "You son of a bitch," she hissed at him.

"Now, now, let's play nice," Nathan said. He stepped closer. "Why don't we get some lunch? You're probably feeling a bit hungry."

"In hell," Claire said between her teeth, taking a step back, and bumping into Parkman, who'd moved to block her from running away. "You can't make me go with him," she said.

"Look, Miss Sinclair," Matt said, holding his hands up and trying to get her to calm down, avoiding using her real name since there were people around. "Just... we want to help, all right? Mr. Petrelli just paid your bail, and arranged for your release." He hadn't explained that before he'd let her out, since it was clear she wasn't listening to a word he said.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Claire said, turning back to Nathan, wondering what he'd told Parkman, why he was here.

"No, you didn't. But Detective Parkman told me you're in a bit of trouble, and I just want to help. So why don't you let me get you some lunch?" Nathan wasn't sure where he'd dredged up such calm in the face of all this. Maybe he was still drunk.

Claire couldn't help but snort at the idea of Nathan actually wanting to help her. Right. "Fine. If it'll get you off my back and get me out of here," she said, folding her arms across her stomach.

"Good," he said, and put a hand at the small of her back to lead her out. He'd brought the car today; it hadn't seen much use lately, as booze money was more important than gas money, but it was a little too far to the precinct from the apartment. He helped her into the passenger seat, got behind the wheel, and took off. "Wendy's or McDonald's?" he asked.

"Forget it, just drive me around the corner since Parkman's watching out the fucking window, and I'll walk home," Claire said, ignoring the seatbelt.

"Like hell," Nathan countered. "But we can grab your things and you can check out."

"And where exactly is it that you think I'm going to check out and go to?" If they slowed down enough, Claire could just get out and walk away.

"You can come stay with me," Nathan said, "until your dad comes to get you."

"Isn't that sweet. No." Claire turned to look out the window of the car.

"He seems like the kind of guy who'd be making himself sick with worry right about now. So let's make him not have reason to worry about you anymore."

Claire kept staring out the window. "I don't know why you came to get me, or why you paid my bail, but you can stop pretending like you care. Just let me out of the car, and we can forget the whole thing. Here-" she pulled a ten dollar bill out of her bra and threw it toward his lap. "The vodka's on me, if that helps."

"Parkman called me, because he saw us talking to each other at Kirby Plaza. And because he can't seem to find your family. I want to see if I can help you, Claire."

"I don't need help. I don't need anyone to look after me, or rescue me, or save me, or... whatever. I'm not looking for a knight on a white horse, and this isn't Pretty Woman." She kept her face turned to the window so he couldn't see her eyes filling with tears.

"No, it's not," he agreed. "It's far more fucked up than that, isn't it? Come stay with me, all right?"

She stayed quiet for a long few moments before she murmured the address to her hotel. "Only because they're going to kick me out anyway since I didn't make the money to pay rent today. Once I've got it again, I'm leaving."

"Sounds like a plan," Nathan said. He fell silent again as he drove to the hotel with her. "You'll understand, won't you, that I'm going to come up with you to make sure you come back with me."

She sighed. "Whatever. Wait," she turned to look at him, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of this until now. "No--I can't go back with you. I can't--your mother, your wife--you've got little kids, I saw them, when I was looking over the banister. I can't come with you back there--just ... float me a couple hundred dollars so I can pay rent, and just forget the whole thing."

"Mom's in jail right now for a crime she didn't commit, and my wife and kids are... aren't here anymore. I'm staying in Peter's apartment."

Claire stared at him for a few moments without knowing what to say, then looked away again, biting her lip. "Oh," she said softly, reaching up to play with her hair, tugging on the short, blunt ends, which didn't even come to her shoulders.

"One of the reasons I followed through on your... invitation," Nathan said. He didn't look at her. He remembered how she'd smelled.

"If... if this is about guilt, I didn't recognize you either. I didn't know it was you." Claire wasn't looking at him either. Wasn't thinking about how that was the closest she'd been to coming since ... she didn't even want to think about it.

"It's not about guilt." Nathan pulled into a parking space and unbuckled his seat belt, pulled the keys from the ignition. "C'mon. Let's get you moved out."

*


	3. Chapter 3

"I'd lock the doors, or the car won't be here when we get back," Claire warned him, climbing out of the car and striding toward the hotel doors, tugging them open and not bothering to hold them open for Nathan. A clerk looked up from behind the desk as she came in and moved to cut her off before she could go for the stairs.

"Rent's due, sweetheart." He looked over at Nathan. "Especially if you're here to do business."

"Uh, no. And actually... I'm checking out, so it doesn't matter," she said, smirking at the clerk.

"It matters when it was due yesterday," he pointed out, getting into Claire's space and doing the traditional slow up and down look.

Nathan was going to need to get a real job at this rate. He reached for his wallet and pulled out some cash, which he shoved at the clerk. "Here. Now let us go get her things so she can leave."

Claire wheeled around and glared at Nathan. "Stop _doing_ that--God! You're not my goddamned pimp!" she spat, shoving past the clerk and stomping up the stairs, fishing her key out of her bag on the way up. She could have cut a deal, or talked him out of it, but no. Petrellis always shove money at their problems.

"I'm not up to wasting time right now," Nathan told her, following her up the stairs. He wasn't staring at her legs. Or any other part of her. "But if you'd like, I can beat him up and take the money back." Ah, sarcasm. He was hungry and cranky.

"Right. Good luck with that. Maybe you can get drunk and throw up on him, that'll show him," Claire muttered under her breath as she kept climbing stairs, finally getting to her room and unlocking the door, hip checking it hard to get it to open. The room was tiny, just a bed and a washroom that you could barely turn around in, Claire's few things scattered over the bed and floor.

"Well, I can see what drew you to this place." Nathan's stomach rumbled with hunger. He actually really was ready for some lunch. Real food would be great, but he couldn't exactly take Claire to a restaurant dressed as she was. Or even a grocery store.

"I'm really not up to sarcasm from a guy who stumbles around alleys with a rat taped to his face, drunk and trolling for hookers," Claire muttered, grabbing clothes from around the room and throwing them onto the bed, trying to find a plastic bag or something she could put her things into.

"I wasn't trolling for a hooker," Nathan snapped. "I just happened to bump into one."

"Yeah, you really took a lot of convincing too." There wasn't a bag anywhere Claire could find, so she sighed and reached her hand out to Nathan. "Give me your coat."

He didn't rise to the bait. He also didn't move. "It's Peter's."

"Oh." She paused, looking awkward for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Never mind. You just gave the guy three times as much for the rent as I owed him, I think he can lose a towel," she muttered, going around Nathan and into the bathroom, coming back out again with a bath towel and a few toiletries. Spreading the towel out on the bed, she bundled everything into the centre of it, tying the corners together into a bundle. "That's everything," she said, bending down and grabbing her boots and another pair of shoes.

Nathan watched her silently, then took the pair of shoes from her without a word, to make it easier for her to carry everything. "Let's get going, then. And my earlier question still stands--it's not much, and it's not good for us, but I'm willing to swing into a drive through, if you want lunch. You just tell me where."

She hesitated a moment or two, then murmured, "McDonalds. Please," she added, clutching her things to her chest.

He led the way back down, took the room key from her and tossed it at the clerk, told himself to forget about the extra money he'd wasted, and put an arm around Claire's shoulder as they made their way to the car again. "I admit I've always been a sucker for their chicken nuggets," he said, randomly, opening a back door for her stuff, and then moving around to the driver's side.

"Me too. With barbeque sauce. And extra for the French fries." She sat down in the passenger seat again, absently trying to pull her skirt a little lower which really wasn't possible. There just wasn't that much give in vinyl.

He didn't look at her legs. And he didn't say another word except to the drive through speaker, getting plenty of food and a couple drinks _and_ ice cream, and then drove away. Getting everything up to Peter's apartment was a little awkward, but they managed, somehow, and Nathan ushered her inside. After setting the food down on the table, he turned and looked at her. "You look tired," he commented.

"It's not exactly easy to sleep in jail," Claire said, dropping her bundle of things onto the couch, then looking around. It reminded her of Peter, but she didn't want to say it out loud. She sat down on the couch and took off her heels, sighing once she got them off her feet, then got up again, heading over to the table and looking through the food, not bothering to ask before first before she started to eat. She was way too hungry for manners.

So was he, really, but at least he sat down after taking off the trench coat and his shoes. He dipped his fries in the little container of sweet and sour sauce, but ate the chicken nuggets plain. It was something Peter had never understood. It was ketchup on fries for Peter, and honey on the chicken pieces, and that never wavered. Nathan watched the table as he ate.

Claire ate barbeque sauce on everything--the chicken nuggets and the fries, and she never sat down, shifting in place and staying on her feet as she ate, spacing her food out with one of the drinks. She kept her eyes down, focusing on the food, and not Nathan.

"What the hell are you doing, Claire?" Nathan asked after another few minutes of silence passed between them.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, picking up the container of barbeque sauce and a chicken nugget and wandering away from the table, looking at things, but not touching.

He stayed where he was. "You're underage, for one. What made you think that selling your body on street corners was a good idea?"

"Sometimes people like to eat." The short, non-committal answers had to be driving him crazy, but Claire just didn't really feel like getting into an ethical debate with Nathan Petrelli.

"And you couldn't find a job in a fucking _shop_ somewhere? Sell jewelry, sell hair products, sell clothes? I keep walking by the same GAP with the same 'help wanted' sign."

"When's the last time you actually went out and looked for a job, Nathan?" Claire wheeled around and glared at him. "You need ID. You need a social security number. You need proof of address. You need a _name_. None of which I have. You think I didn't try?"

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. OK, so, there was that. But _still_... "What was wrong with where the Bennets took you?"

She flinched at the mention of her family. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Fine, you're right, you don't," he said. He shook his head. "At least you're out of jail now, I suppose. Until the next time you get thrown in."

"It was bad luck," she mumbled. "Parkman decided it was his morning for a moral crusade against the evils of the city. Most of the cops don't care."

"Oh, of course," Nathan said. "My mistake. Shoulda just left you there."

"Where, in the alley, or at the police station?" Claire'd turned her back on him again, walking over to the nearest window and looking out.

"Either/or." He took a sip of his drink; it was too sweet, and he pushed it aside. "So is this my punishment?"

"What is your punishment?" Claire frowned, not sure what he was talking about. Or why he was making it all about him, except that he was Nathan Petrelli, and that seemed to be how he worked. Even Meredith had said so.

"You coming here, like this--is this for refusing to talk to you?"

"Yes, Nathan. I came to New York and became a hooker because you wouldn't talk to me." Claire rolled her eyes, sarcasm thick.

"Then why?"

She didn't say anything for a long time. "Can I take a shower?"

He waved a hand. "Fine. Go ahead."

Claire just nodded, going back to the table do drop her barbeque sauce off, then grabbing her things and heading for the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She was in the shower within a minute, the water turned so hot it was burning her skin. Not that it mattered.

He stayed at the table a while, before tidying everything up, putting the ice cream in the freezer. He listened to the shower running, and then went to sit on the couch, staring at the blank television screen and trying hard not to think too much.

It was a long time before Claire came out again, steam billowing after her as she came into the room, dressed, but barefoot, lugging her bundle after her. She'd sold or traded all of her 'normal' clothes, leaving her in a skin tight tank top and miniskirt, short black hair combed back from her face.

Nathan turned to watch her. "You look so different," he said, quietly. He frowned, then turned back to watching the turned-off television.

She reached her hand up to touch the ends of her hair, then let it drop again. "No one recognizes me like this. It's better."

"Not no one," he said. "I did. Parkman did. I just didn't recognize you right away because it was dark. And because I was drunk."

"Parkman didn't recognize me until after he got inside my head. You... I didn't recognize you either," she said, fidgeting with her hands and shifting in place.

"Well, like you said, I had a rat glued to my face. Or was that taped?"

"Taped. But either way, you didn't look like you." Not that she'd spent _that_ much time with Nathan.

"No, I guess I didn't." He rubbed a hand over his chin again. "I'd never grown a beard before."

"I'd avoid doing it again. It really didn't suit you." She blinked, not sure why she'd bothered to say that. "Anyway... I should... go. I'm sure you're busy."

"Busy? Sure, I've got lots of sitting around and drinking to do," he said with a shrug.

"That's not good for you, you know." Again, the words were out before she could call them back.

"Neither's getting fucked in alleys by strangers," he countered.

"I can't get hurt... remember?" He'd seen her put herself through a window and fall several stories, only to walk away, so he should know that. "It doesn't matter."

"Uh huh," he said. "And you're absolutely sure that this ability of yours keeps you safe from unpleasant diseases?"

"I haven't been sick since it manifested. And I've been tested." She hadn't wanted to take the risk of letting someone take a blood sample, but she felt she had to.

"And if you can't afford your cheap hotel room, you can afford birth control... how, exactly?"

"Free clinics." She was bristling, getting irritated again by Nathan's pushing.

"Ah," he said. "Right. Of course." He looked at her for a long moment. "How much do you want?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry?"

"If you wanted to find some little place to live, I could cover your rent for you for a few months."

Claire stared at him, then laughed, sounding bitter. "Right. This lesson I already learned. Petrelli Problem Solving 101--throw money at the problem and hope it goes away. I'll save you the first step and move right on to the second one," she said, bending over to pick up her things, and looking for her shoes.

He got up and grabbed her arms. "Are you going to keep running away from everything?"

She dropped her things and pulled hard, trying to jerk out of his grasp. "You're really in no position to lecture me, you know--just let go, and you can go back to pretending I don't exist!"

Nathan held her a little tighter. "You've got your entire goddamn life ahead of you. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Let me _go_\--you're not my fucking father!" she yelled, angry tears forming in her eyes.

He let go, shoving her back not particularly gently. "Fine," he said. "Then go. Do whatever the hell it is you need to do."

She bumped into a coffee table as she was shoved back, losing her balance and falling to the floor, landing hard. She went to get up, then just... stopped, closing her eyes tightly and biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying.

"Claire..." He crouched down next to her, but didn't touch her. He didn't dare. "I'm sorry. That wasn't... I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"He's gone," she whispered, not looking up or opening her eyes.

For a moment, he figured she meant Peter. But for some reason, he wasn't quite so sure, so he didn't say anything.

"My dad. He's gone. He went... I don't know where he went, since whatever he told us had to be a lie. And he didn't come back." Claire's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, the words coming out of her in a neutral, almost numb way.

"And then they came for me. Every time it's happened, my family ended up getting hurt. My mom... so many times. Sylar, people from the Company... she saw me shot and killed once, before she knew I could heal. I couldn't let them use my family to get to me any more. So I ran here."

Nathan took a moment to digest all of this. "Claire, I'm sorry about what's happened. I'm sorry about your dad. If I could find him for you, I would. But--but you didn't think, not for a second, that coming back to New York was a bad idea? _They're_ here."

"They're _everywhere_. I thought... I thought I could hide better if I went where they'd never expect me to go." And she'd thought that Nathan would help her. She'd called him three times between LA and New York. He hadn't answered once.

"I should have done better for you." He sat down, leaned back against the couch. "I'm sorry."

"But I didn't do this to punish you. I didn't ... I didn't know what else to do," she murmured, opening her eyes, but still looking down. "I had to keep my family safe. What's left of it."

He reached out and lightly touched her hair. "I know. That was unfair of me to say, wasn't it. You don't have to go if you don't want to. Take the bed, get yourself settled in."

"I'm smaller... I can sleep on the couch. I've slept on worse," she said, shaking her head lightly, hair falling into her face. She still wasn't used to having it short.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," he said. "Besides, it's still early and we've got plenty of time to argue about that."

Claire almost laughed, bringing her hands up and absently rubbing her upper arms. It wasn't exactly warm in the apartment, and she wasn't really dressed for the temperature.

"Let me get you a shirt," he said, and got to his feet. He wasn't about to take no for an answer, so he quickly made his way to the bedroom, poking through the closet and finding one of Peter's sweaters. It was going to be far too big for her, but as long as she was warm...

She nodded and watched him go, staying put on the floor. Lifting her head when he came back, she looked at the shirt. "That's not yours."

"No, it's his. But he'd want you to wear it."

"Are you sure that you want me to wear it?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. Go on." He held it out, and sat down on the couch again when she took it.

She pulled the shirt over her head and rolled up the sleeves, smiling when she saw just how big it was on her--as long as her skirt, not that that was saying much. "We're not exactly the same size, are we?"

"No," he said. "Good thing Peter's short." He knew he was only an inch taller. They did not inherit their height from their mother's side of the family. Bone of contention, that.

"I miss him," she said, biting her lip and looking down. "I'm sorry. I know... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"So do I," Nathan replied. "More than anything."

"What happened to you? I'm not the only one who changed."

"Peter's gone. I don't know where he is. My wife and sons are gone. I know where they are, but I'm not allowed to see them. I mentioned the part where my mother's in jail, right?" _And I fucked my daughter in an alley._

"Have you heard anything? About Peter?" Claire didn't know what to say about all that--sorry didn't seem like close to enough. But she couldn't help believing that Peter was still alive.

"No," Nathan said. "Not a thing. But he'll be back. I know he'll come back. He has to."

"I don't think he's dead. He can't be dead. He's just... I don't know. Lost. Somewhere." She looked at Nathan again. "If you think he's going to be back, then... why are you letting it do this to you?" If he could grill her about what she was doing, surely she had the right to ask a few questions.

"He's been gone too long. Or maybe he isn't coming back. It just seemed like the thing to do, I suppose."

"He wouldn't want that. You know he wouldn't want that," Claire murmured.

He glared at her for that. "Well, he's not here right now."

She looked away, stung by the glare, especially since he'd tried exactly the same thing on her, talking about her parents. She pushed up off the floor and stood up, Peter's shirt almost coming to her knees.

He looked at her legs, for just a moment, then up at her. "That wasn't very fair of me, either, was it?" He got to his feet and went back into the kitchen to find something to drink.

She didn't answer, watching him go to the kitchen instead. "Is there food?" she said, following after Nathan after a beat or two, watching him. "Should I... I could go get something. Dinner."

"There's some more food. But if you want something that's not there, grab some cash from my wallet and go find something." He kept his back to her.

"Right," she said, grabbing her boots and slipping them on, leaving his wallet untouched on the table, but grabbing Nathan's key to the apartment. Stepping quietly, she heading for the door and outside, closing the door behind her and walking quickly down the hall. Leaving Peter's shirt on the back of the sofa.

Drink in hand, he went and sprawled out on the couch again. He had no idea if she'd be back. He cared, he knew he did, but he couldn't quite dredge up the emotion right now. Maybe he was still in shock. Maybe he was in denial. Either way, he didn't want to think right now. At all.

*


	4. Chapter 4

It was almost starting to get light again when Claire came back, the soft sound of the key in the lock before she opened the door, keeping her movements quiet. She'd even taken her boots off in the hallway so she'd make less noise. She didn't want to wake Nathan up. Closing the door again, she looked over to the couch, where Nathan was either sleeping or passed out. It was hard to tell, but judging by the smell of alcohol in the air, it could be either.

Rubbing her eyes, exhausted, she pulled the money she'd made out of her bra and set it on the table, placing Nathan's key, and one she'd cut for herself, beside it, then went over to the couch and shook him gently. "Nathan. Nathan, come on, it's time for bed."

It took a moment for him to blink his eyes open, staring blearily up at her. "Claire?" He sat up a little straighter, groaned at the crick in his neck. "What time is it?"

"Early... it doesn't matter. Come on, I told you that you were too big for that couch," she said, offering him her hand to help him up.

He looked at her a bit longer. "Sent you for groceries," he said. "But you... I know what you were doing. Don't think I don't."

"I know you know," she said, offering him her hand again. "I'll get groceries for real later. You need to sleep it off, Nathan, come on."

He took her hand and got unsteadily to his feet, standing too close to her. He blinked, slowly, and kept watching her. "Don't need to keep doing that, Claire. I can help, you know."

"I don't need your help," she said, taking a step back, then starting to tug him toward the bedroom. "I can take care of myself. And no offence, Nathan, but you can barely help yourself right now." She kept pulling him, drawing the covers down once she had him beside the bed.

He ran his fingers across her cheek, over her mouth, staring intently down at her. "Do you _like_ what you do?" he asked.

Her breath caught as Nathan's fingers moved over her face, a soft sigh escaping before she came back to herself, clearing her throat and looking down, giving Nathan a gentle push to off-balance him and make him sit down on the bed. "It doesn't matter."

"Sure it doesn't," he said. He looked up at her from where he sat, reached out more than a little unsteadily to put his hands on her waist. "At least you're good at pretending you do."

Claire closed her eyes, then opened them again, gently reaching down and removing his hands from her waist. "Nathan, you're drunk. Sleep it off," she said, pushing his hands back toward him and giving his shoulders another push, reaching down and neatly lifting his feet, tucking him up and onto the bed surprisingly smoothly, considering how small she was. It wasn't the first time she'd tucked a drunk man into bed.

He mumbled something, incoherent, voice rough. But his head was on the pillow and he was gone in seconds, falling into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

She sighed in relief as he finally dropped off, the back of her hand smoothing against Nathan's mercifully smooth cheek before she pulled the covers up the rest of the way. Checking to make sure the blinds were down before she left the room, she returned with a bottle of water and another of Tylenol before closing the door and leaving Nathan alone.

Twenty minutes and a scalding hot shower later, Claire was settled in on the couch, wearing nothing but Peter's shirt and a pair of panties, tucked under the coat Nathan had been wearing, since she didn't want to go searching for a blanket and risk waking him again. She was asleep almost as quickly as Nathan.

*

Nathan frowned as he looked in the fridge. "Didn't you go for groceries yesterday?"

Claire murmured something incoherent and pulled the coat up over her head, protesting the voices that were being all...questiony. It was barely noon, not even close to time to get up.

Nathan huffed out a sigh and closed the refrigerator door. "Claire?"

"Oh, God, _what_?" Claire groaned, dragging the coat lower and peering bleary-eyed over the back of the couch.

"There's nothing to eat," Nathan said, accusingly, standing over the back of the couch.

She blinked at him. Did Nathan remember... no, of course he didn't remember anything from this morning, when he'd still been drunk. "I forgot to take the money... I couldn't buy food," she lied, dragging her hand through her hair, then pushing up off the couch, carefully laying Peter's coat over the back. "I'll go grab something."

He frowned. He really didn't remember much after she left. He'd started drinking by then, of course. Bad habit. He should consider breaking it one day. "Oh," he said, and dug around for a box of cereal. "Well. Fine, then," he said. "Go."

"Thanks for your permission," she muttered, rubbing her eyes, then trying to think if she had any clothes she could wear out on the street that weren't completely obvious.

"See if someone'll sell you some wine," he said, absently, pouring cereal out into a bowl. It was worth a shot.

Claire looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "Right... I look old enough to buy alcohol." Granted, she did know a bartender or two who would sell to her, but that wasn't so much the point.

"Hey, you never know," Nathan said with a shrug. "I'll see you in a while, then." He leaned against the counter to eat his breakfast. Sitting down and standing up again wasn't really an option right now.

"Yeah," Claire said, watching him for a few moments, then grabbing her clothes. "You don't... there's nothing in here that's going to fit me, pants-wise, is there?"

He looked at her. "Pete and I might not exactly be gangly, but we've both still got longer legs than you do."

She sighed. "That's about what I figured. There's got to be a second hand place somewhere around here... I don't exactly have much of an every day wardrobe. It's a little conspicuous." She picked up the skirt she'd been wearing the day before and headed into the bathroom to change.

"Could at least buy yourself a pair of jeans," he called after her. His voice was too loud. He winced. Back to quietly eating.

She came back a few minutes later, her face still washed clean of makeup from the shower earlier in the day, her skirt almost hidden beneath Peter's shirt. "I'll be back soon... need anything else?" she said, collecting money--hers, not Nathan's--off the table, and tucking it into a pocket.

"Just the essentials. Milk, bread, some kind of meat, maybe some eggs. Cheese. Whatever works." He looked at her legs again, then back up at her face. Without the makeup, she was a little more noticeably Claire.

"Okay. See you in a bit. I cut myself a key, hope you don't mind," Claire added, pocketing that as well. She headed over to the door, then paused. "Drink some more water and take some Tylenol, Nathan. You look like shit."

He squinted at her. "Thanks for the advice," he said, dryly. "Be careful."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the advice," she said back, in almost the identical tone Nathan had just used. Because really, going out grocery shopping was hazardous, compared to her night job.

*

Nathan looked better when she came back; within a few hours, he was practically bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to tackle a proper dinner that included real cooked food. He wasn't particularly talkative, but he bustled around the kitchen with the stereo on, playing quiet, down-key music.

"You could probably steal a pair of his sweat pants or something," Nathan said. "Roll them up, maybe there's some safety pins. If you're cold. Until you decide to buy some clothes that actually cover your legs."

"Yeah, maybe," Claire nodded. "I should wash my stuff anyway... it's been awhile since I've been able to make it to a Laundromat. Is there a washer and dryer in here, or should I just use the sink in the bathroom?"

"Basement," Nathan said. "Not exactly the best stuff down there--anything delicate, wash it in the sink."

"Everything's... kinda delicate," Claire admitted, starting toward the bedroom, then pausing. "Is... do you mind?" She felt like she should ask before going in and going through Peter's things.

"It's okay," he said, softly. A sudden grin broke across his face. "If you find any really dirty pornography, it's his, not mine. The more run-of-the-mill stuff's mine, though."

Claire wrinkled her nose, then laughed--she couldn't help it. "Great, something to hope for. Do you really think anything's gonna shock me though?" she pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Nathan.

Nathan shrugged a shoulder. "Sadly, we're not quite that kinky," he said, and just sort of left it at that. He had chicken to dice.

She raised her other eyebrow, wondering about Nathan's use of 'we' there, but Claire decided she was just letting her imagination go somewhere...really, really strange. Leaving it at that, she went into the bedroom and looking through Peter's drawers, not finding any pornography, kinky or otherwise, but finding a pair of sweatpants that looked like they could be rolled and pinned up, at least for long enough for her to get some laundry done.

Hesitating for a moment at the bed, she impulsively stripped the sheets off, bundling them up and carrying them out into the living room. Dropping them on the couch, she went about gathering other things, feeling an almost compulsive need to get things cleaned up.

Nathan turned a little and watched her. "Are you just taking everything and leaving?" he asked.

"The sheets smell, Nathan. I know what kind of bars you've been spending your time in, and the sheets smell like them."

"I washed them... a while ago..."

Claire doesn't even want to know how long a while ago was. "Whatever. I'm doing laundry, you're making dinner. It's a fair trade."

"I suppose it is," he agreed. "Feel free to take one of the puzzle books lying about or something. Dinner'll be ready in a couple hours."

A pencil tucked behind her ear, and a puzzle book on top of the pile of clothes and laundry soap, Claire headed off for the basement, trying not to let how weirdly domestic this all was get to her. Nathan was a drunk, she was a hooker, Peter and her father were missing and God knew where. Nathan didn't remember her leaving the night before, didn't remember her putting him to bed when she came home. They were all pretty fucked up, really.

Dinner was a quiet affair.

Nathan had tried to help Claire make the bed, but he'd started in on the beer since there wasn't much in the way of wine left, and he was just getting in the way. He did an admirable enough job serving up dinner when she'd shooed him out of the bedroom, but he was quiet and sullen, like a child who'd just been told off.

It took Claire a few minutes to even realize that Nathan was being sullen, since she was eating too much and too fast to pay all that much attention, and once she did clue into it, she really wasn't all that sure what to say. She didn't really know him that well, after all. Most of what she knew about him, she didn't wildly like. And there was so much that was just utterly awkward that she hardly knew what to say that wouldn't lead back to somewhere they'd rather not go. So, she stared at the plate, twirled her fork, and ate as much as she could, trying to ignore Nathan drinking.

After a while, he got up from the table and dumped his plate and the cutlery in the sink. He didn't look at her, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he was being childish, but he didn't fucking _care_. He didn't. What was there to care about? He wandered back into the other room and fumbled a bit through Peter's DVD collection, and settled on a movie that had a few explosions and a car chase. Might keep him awake a while.

Checking a sigh, Claire cleared her own plate, although she didn't bother to do anything special with it, dumping it in the sink beside Nathan's. She watched him watching the movie for a few moments, then reached down into the bag of things she'd picked up when she was shopping, lifting a bottle of red wine out of the bag, and leaving it on the counter. It turned out that he was right about her being able to buy alcohol after all... of course, she did know a few people. He'd find it sooner or later. She got the puzzle book out again and sat down at the table to finish the one she'd started while doing laundry.

When he'd finished off the latest bottle of beer, he got unsteadily to his feet to go deposit the bottle on the counter and get another from the refrigerator. That's when he noticed the wine. "Oh," he said, "you found some."

"Yeah... I know a guy," she said, looking up at Nathan and quickly counting the beer bottles on the counter. She'd already decided not to ask why it was he wasn't with his wife and kids any more. The answer seemed a little obvious.

"Thanks," he said, grabbing a glass and the bottle and returning to the couch to settle in for the night. He fell asleep within the hour.

Claire thought about getting him settled into his actual bed before she left, but in the end, she took away the bottle and glass and left him curled up there, finding a blanket out of the bedroom and draping it over him. Peter's shirt and sweatpants were abandoned in the bathroom while she got dressed and her makeup done, leaving her shoes until last and carrying them out the door to put on in the hall, quietly locking the door behind her. Nathan couldn't help himself right now, let alone her, that much was clear. Maybe she could do something for the both of them.

*


	5. Chapter 5

The TV was still on, replaying the menu sequence over and over on the DVD. He rubbed at his face. It was otherwise completely dark in the apartment. He got up, nearly tripped over the coffee table. "Claire?" he called out hoarsely. She wasn't here. He frowned and made his way to the bathroom, squinting in the light, not daring to look in the mirror. He splashed water over his face.

The trip to the kitchen was difficult, and he opened the fridge to find a bottle of water. He leaned against the counter, twisted the top off, drank deeply.

And then hurried, best as he could, back to the bathroom for a spell.

The apartment was dark when Claire opened the door and crept inside, everywhere except the TV, since Nathan had left that on. She closed and locked the door, again leaving her keys, and the money on the table, boots just inside the door, then went to go move Nathan... who wasn't there." She frowned and checked the bedroom--no Nathan.

The bathroom door swung open, and Nathan stood there, silhouetted in the light. He stared at Claire's back. "Where've you been?"

She spun around, gasping and putting her hand over her heart when she heard his voice, clearly startled. "God... you scared me half to death," she complained.

"Where were you?" Nathan asked.

She bit her lip. "Out," she said, turning away and heading for the kitchen, opening the fridge for a bottle of water.

He followed her. "Out," he echoed. "Gee, let me guess where."

"It doesn't matter," she said, twisting the top off the bottle and taking a long sip, swishing it in her mouth, then spitting into the sink before she actually took a drink for real.

He stepped up behind her, one hand coming to rest on her hip. "Are you having a good time out there?" he asked. His voice was a rough growl. "Enjoying what you do, Claire--does it make you feel special?"

She went still, the bottle half-way to her lips, breathing picking up a little faster. "No, not especially," she said, her voice sounding strange, too loud.

His fingers slid down, dragged her skirt up. "No? When was the last time you _really_ got off?"

She closed her eyes, making herself reach down and stop his hand. "Nathan... you don't... you're drunk."

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "I shouldn't let you come in here smelling like other men."

Claire bit her lip hard, refusing to make a sound, refusing to move, even as much as she wants to. "I'm sorry. Go to sleep, I'll take a shower, and you can forget about it."

He pressed closer against her back. "I'm awake now," he said. "How many men gave you that extra twenty bucks?"

She opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, needing a few deep breaths before she could speak. "Nathan, you don't want to know."

"I can't stop thinking about you. If I'd known..." He laughed, softly, in her ear. "If I'd known, Claire, I'd have given you the extra money."

"That's great, Nathan, but tomorrow you're not going to remember having had this conversation. Only I am," she whispered.

"You want me to stop?"

God help her, she shook her head, then laughed, the sound coming out more like a sob. "God, that is so fucked up," she whispered, looking up and blinking quickly. "But you do."

He had to mull that one over. "_I_ want me to stop?"

"When you're not drunk, you don't even look at me. You'll hate me and I'll lose you too. I should... I should just go. It's not light yet. You can go to sleep, and you won't even remember that we talked about this." She took a step away and set the bottle down, heading for the door.

"Don't go, Claire," Nathan said, turning to follow her. "Don't go. I'll go to bed. And then I won't know that I... I won't stop wanting you. I don't look at you because I want you again."

She paused, her hand on the door handle. She wanted him again too. It was wrong, and it was fucked up, and it was dirty, and she knew it, and too much of her didn't care either way. But she couldn't help feeling that sleeping with Nathan when he was drinking so much he couldn't remember what they'd talked about the next day was some fucked up kind of taking advantage. Which was even more fucked up considering that she was the one in the room who was underage.

"You're gonna feel like hell in the morning... you should drink some water," she whispered, taking her hand off the door handle. "And get some sleep."

"Don't go," he said. "I don't want you to go."

"I won't go," she said, turning back around, but not looking at him. "I won't go. I'll take a shower and go to sleep, that's all. Okay?"

"Yeah," he said. He looked longingly at her, then turned away. "Good night, Claire."

"Good night, Nathan," she said softly, watching him walk back to the bedroom before she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She didn't let herself start crying until she was all the way under the water, so Nathan couldn't hear.

*

Nathan felt like shit.

He wasn't sure, exactly, how many days running now he'd woken up feeling like this, but something suddenly seemed to click in his head. He didn't _like_ waking up feeling like shit. It was, frankly, a little ridiculous.

He crawled out of bed, cursed when he almost tripped over a sock, and dragged himself into the bathroom to puke.

Claire shifted on the couch in her sleep when Nathan swore, frowning, then tugging the blanket up a little higher, one leg exposed as it slipped down partly onto the floor. Her eyes were red, a little swollen, hair tousled from going to sleep with it wet.

A while later, Nathan padded into the kitchen, fumbling about for a glass of water, needing some Tylenol and unable to remember where it was. He dropped the glass to the floor and it shattered, followed by a shouted curse.

She gasped and jerked upright, piling off the couch and onto the floor, grabbing for something she could use as a weapon, only stopping when she realized what had happened. "Jesus _Christ_, Nathan, what a way to wake a person up," she complained, shoving up off the floor and padding barefoot to the kitchen, too sleepy to realize she was only wearing a tank top and panties. Grabbing him by the arm, she tugged him out of the way, looking around for something to clean up the glass with. "Move back, you'll only hurt yourself."

"You--you should have something on your feet," he muttered. He let his gaze move down over her body and he let out a little groan, stepped back, collided with the wall.

"Like it matters if I cut myself," she said, sighing and shaking her head. "Just... sit down, okay? Did you need water? Tylenol, maybe?"

"Yeah," he said. "Please." He watched her carefully as she moved through the kitchen. God. Oh, God. Oh God, he was going to hell.

She got him the water and Tylenol first, then started cleaning up the glass and mopping the water off the floor, only cutting herself once. It wasn't until after she'd finished that she clued into what she was wearing (or not wearing, really), saying nothing about it, but ducking her head and leaving the room, going to find the sweatpants of Peter's she'd been wearing. She really, really needed to get a pair of real person jeans.

He made his way to the table and sank down after taking the Tylenol with a mouthful of water. His mouth tasted like... something bad. He cradled his head in his hands and groaned again.

He couldn't keep doing this.

"Is there anything that helps?" Claire asked, going into the kitchen again. She didn't really want to start listing off food, just in case it made him sicker, but maybe there was something she could do.

"Cold facecloth," he said, quietly. "For my head. Or my neck. Or, hell, just try to kill me with it."

"You're doing a fine job trying to kill yourself on your own, without me chiming in," Claire said, mostly sympathetic. She headed for the bathroom, actually closing the door behind her when she ran the water and soaked the washcloth, figuring that less noise was better for Nathan right now. Wringing it out well, she opened the door and headed back to the kitchen, pushing his head gently forward and setting the washcloth at the back of his neck. "Better?"

He groaned, softly. "Tha'snice." His stomach was empty, and he wanted food, but even the thought of moving right now--yeah, no. He was just gonna stay where he was.

"Can you eat, when you're like this, or are you gonna barf on me if I mention food?" she suggested, keeping her voice low and quiet.

"I'm probably going to barf on you," he said. "I'll have some toast in a while. Sooner or later. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow."

"You should go back to bed. Give the water and Tylenol some time to do what it's supposed to do. If you'd looked on your bedside table, you wouldn't have broken things... I left them both there for you," Claire murmured.

"Which would be why I didn't find them here," Nathan said. "Oh. I'd go back to bed, but I'm pretty sure I can't move right now. So I'll just stay right where I am."

"Here--lean on me," she offered, moving in close. "Come on, I'm stronger than I look. Not like Niki or anything, but still... I can help."

He got to his feet, wavered a little, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Jesus Christ... you really should have just left me where I was."

"You'll feel better once you're lying down. And if I leave you there, you'll fall asleep on the table, get a crick in your neck, and be a bitch all afternoon--no thanks," Claire said, although it took more than a little effort to get the words out, because Nathan wasn't super light.

Eventually, they got him back into the bed, and he curled up onto his side without even bothering with the blankets. "Thanks, Claire," he said. "I'll... I'll just stay here for a while."

She replaced the cloth over his neck and double checked the blinds. "Okay. I'll be quiet... I won't disturb you, I promise. Just sleep."

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "Sleep..." He closed his eyes. It took him a long time to fall asleep again, but eventually he made it.

He dreamt about her. In that alley, again. But Peter was there, and he saw them, and he ran away. He didn't feel as guilty about it, when he woke up hours later, as he thought he should have.

Claire'd stayed in the apartment until she was sure Nathan was asleep, creeping in and checking on him a few times, then waiting for a good hour once he'd fallen asleep before she left the apartment. If she was going to stay here, she couldn't keep running around in Peter's sweatpants or her 'work' clothes, so she scribbled a note and left it on the kitchen table for Nathan (with another bottle of water and a few Tylenol next to it), and went out to find a thrift store, somewhere she could find jeans and pyjamas.

Nathan smiled, just a little, when he found the note. It was starting to get late, and he figured she'd surely be hungry by the time she got back from spending money, so he set about making some spaghetti. It was quick, it was easy, and it didn't require a whole lot of him standing about to make sure it was okay. He pulled out a crossword puzzle book and tried to work on one of the puzzles, but his attention wandered. He couldn't stop thinking about her legs.

It was another forty minutes or so before Claire came back, her shoes and Peter's sweatpants carefully stored in one of her shopping bags, replaced by jeans and a pair of flip-flops, the cheapest things she could find. "You're up," she said, setting her bags down beside the couch, and putting the leftover money down on the coffee table, coming over to sit at the table with Nathan. "And you're cooking. Smells good."

"Yeah," Nathan said. "On both counts. You found some clothes, I see. All covered up again." He didn't sound disappointed. He was proud of himself for keeping his tone neutral.

"I was getting some funny looks when I left the building. I get the feeling this isn't really the kind of establishment that, well... anyway." Claire leaned forward, hair falling into her eyes before she pushed it back. "I had to walk a ways before I found anywhere I could buy stuff though."

"At least you did," he said. "And we didn't have to cannibalise anybody else's clothes to try to make something that would fit you." He carefully pulled a strand of pasta from the water with a fork, and walked it over to her. "Is this cooked enough for you?"

She looked up and opened her mouth, dragging the noodle off the fork and biting into it, chewing and swallowing before she answered. "That's good, just like that." She nodded.

"Okay, then," he said, staring at her mouth. (He wanted her. Oh, God, he wanted her; all of her. Sprawled out in Peter's bed, legs around his waist, her mouth against his own.) He swallowed, turned away, and drained the pasta into a colander. "Help yourself, Claire," he said, gesturing to a plate for her.

She climbed up off her chair and headed into the kitchen, filling a plate with spaghetti and covering it with sauce, a huge plateful. She hadn't wanted to spend money to buy food when she'd gone shopping, not when she'd just bought food for the apartment, so she was starving.

"Did you leave me any?" he asked, mildly, eyeing her plate. Then he dished out some for himself too--not quite as much as she had, but close. There was enough left over for a midnight snack, even.

"Sorry... I... you made lots at least," she said meekly, carrying it over to the table and setting the plate down, unable to wait until he'd joined her before she started to eat. "Hot food that doesn't come from a place with plastic cutlery really can't be over appreciated, you know?"

"I'm sure," he murmured. "Next time, I'll make some garlic bread, too. I wasn't up to much more than this. You're lucky it's not Kraft Dinner."

"I would have eaten Kraft Dinner." She couldn't remember the last time she'd had Kraft Dinner. She was slowing down a little bit now that the initial edge of her hunger was taken off, letting herself enjoy the meal.

"Well, that's good to know, I suppose. What about Brussels sprouts?" He must be feeling better. He was teasing. So he got up to get a glass of wine.

Claire made a face and took a bigger bite of spaghetti, her shoulders sagging a little bit as she realized where he was going. _You should have known better. Did you think he'd just stop? He's an alcoholic, Claire._ She took a deep breath and cleared her expression, straightening her shoulders again and swallowing the bite of food. "Vegetables are fine, but that's not a vegetable, it's punishment in food form."

"I couldn't agree more," Nathan said when he returned to the table. "Those things, and turnips. And cooked cabbage. Ways for people to punish their disobedient offspring." He took a sip of the wine, and set the glass down.

She nodded, taking another bite, then playing with her food, twirling the fork in the noodles. "You look better. The sleep must have helped," she said.

"I feel better," he said. He sliced a meatball in two with the edge of his fork. "The sleep helped a lot. Thanks, Claire. For making me get back to bed. I feel a bit more human."

"You looked like you needed it." She shrugged. Plus, he hadn't slept through the night, what with waking up and confronting her in the kitchen and all. Taking one more bite, she got up and carried her plate into the kitchen, setting it beside the sink.

"Yeah, I suppose I did." He finished his own meal, then carried the plate over to the counter. He topped off the wine glass, had another drink, then started to rinse the dishes. "I'm gonna give that movie another try," he said. "The one from last night. I think I fell asleep partway through."

"I think you did too. Go ahead, I picked up a book at the thrift store," she said, going and getting it out of the bag. "I'm well entertained."

He shrugged a little. "All right," he said, and after he finished with the dishes, he grabbed his glass and the wine bottle, and headed back to his usual spot on the couch.

Not even halfway through the movie, and his eyes were closed, his head back. He was fast asleep again.

This was beginning to be more than a bit of a pattern. Hopefully this time, Nathan wouldn't wake up to be sick, and be awake when she got home. Better for both of them. A few minutes in the bathroom and Claire was dressed and ready to go again, turning the TV volume off gradually so Nathan would stay asleep through it, then shutting the screen off as well. This time, she left Tylenol--and plastic water bottles--both beside the bed, and on the table, closing the door softly behind her as she headed out.

*


	6. Chapter 6

Claire stumbled as she walked up to the front door, exhausted all the way through. She should be aching all over, she knew that, objectively, and she almost wished she was. Maybe if it actually hurt, she'd have made it an earlier night, not pushed so late. Rubbing her eyes, she slipped of her shoes and found her key, turning it slowly in the lock and padding inside, finding her way in the dim light of the room.

Nathan sat up. The cup of coffee four hours ago had helped a lot. He quietly stood, padded with bare feet to stand in the kitchen doorway. And wait for her to find him.

Everything was dark, and the apartment was silent--good. She checked a sigh and set her boots down beside the couch, stretching a little before she headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water, gasping and jolting back a step or two when she almost ran into Nathan.

"Hi," he said, quietly. "How's business, Claire?"

"_God!_" she exclaimed, giving her head a shake and waiting for her heart to start beating again. "What are you doing awake? You should be sleeping."

"Yeah, maybe I should. But... I'm not. How was your night?"

"Fine," she said shortly, stepping around him and reaching into the fridge for water, going to the sink and rinsing her mouth out. "Just fine."

"Well, that's good." He stepped up behind her. This was familiar. But he reached into her shirt this time, under her bra strap, and pulled out the wad of cash there. He dropped it on the counter beside the sink. "Did well tonight, I see."

She looked down and away, not wanting to look up at him. "You should go to sleep."

"I'm not sleepy." He stepped back and turned her around. "You smell like other men. Again. I don't like it."

"Hazard of the job," she said, tired and a little bit cranky, not sure she was in the mood to do this all over again, only to have to do it again the next night. "I'll shower, you'll sleep, I'll sleep, you'll forget." Except... that he just said 'again'.

"Yeah," Nathan said, softly. "We will." He took a step back.

"Yeah," she repeated, draining the bottle of water and setting it on the table, trying to hide that her hands were shaking. That was probably from being tired.

"I want you," he said. "I dreamed about you today. I dreamed about fucking you again."

"And then you drank a bottle of wine and passed out on the couch, and in the morning you'll wake up, and you won't remember having told me any of this, and I'll nurse you through the hangover, you'll feed me, and we'll do this all over again," Claire said, not looking up at him.

"I didn't drink the bottle," Nathan said. "I didn't even have two glasses."

She went still again. She actually hadn't paid that much attention to what he'd been drinking. "Then... that, plus whatever you drank before I got home from shopping. Whatever--it's the same thing." Her voice was starting to shake, and it was pissing her off that she couldn't keep it steady. "It was easier in the alley--at least there it made sense--you wanted to fuck, you paid me, you fucked me, and I didn't end up standing here feeling like an idiot."

"I'm not drunk tonight, Claire," Nathan said. His voice was quiet, rough, and he took another step toward her. "As much as I might want to be, I'm not. I had two glasses of wine. That's all."

She stepped back when he stepped forward, bumping into the table and having to put her hands out to steady herself. She was breathing faster, fingers clutching at the edge of the table, not knowing how to respond to Nathan, or what to do.

"You want to be a whore, Claire?" Nathan asked. "Is that it?" He reached into his pocket and threw money at her feet. "There. You're a whore." He crowded her against the table, his hands falling flat against its surface, and he leaned in and bit her lip, not at all gently. "You can be my whore."

Her eyes flashed angrily, tongue flicking over the place where he'd bitten her, not that there was even so much as the impression from his teeth left behind. "Is that what you want?" she shot back at him, ignoring the money at her feet and writhing up against him, skirt already starting to ride up.

"Yeah," he said. One of his hands went to the hem of her skirt, and he pulled it up to her waist. "That's what I want. Bend over the table, Claire."

Claire looked right into his eyes for a moment or two, then pushed herself up off the table, turning around slowly, then bending at the waist and laying herself out across the table, and spreading her legs wide.

He watched, for a moment, then pushed a finger inside her without a word. He groaned, faintly, squeezed himself through his pants, and eventually whispered, "Fuck. Claire..."

"Go ahead, Nathan. Take what you want--fuck me," she rasped, squeezing around his finger, staring straight ahead as she shoved back against him.

He pulled back to open his pants, pull his cock free, then pressed up against her. He wasn't thinking anymore; there was nothing to think about. He just _needed_ this. He needed her--or, at least he'd tell himself that he did. Later, if he had to try to explain this to himself. For now, he pushed into her, groaned loudly, bent over her back. "Fuck yes. Claire."

Claire moaned loudly, just shy of overdoing it, but still managing to sound completely sincere. He wanted a whore, she'd give him a whore. "God, yes--more--_harder_. You wanted to fuck me, so _fuck_ me."

He bent over her back and bit her neck. "Fucking hot little cunt," he whispered, licked at her ear, and gave it to her harder. That's what she wanted. She wanted to be _fucked_; he'd give it to her.

She gasped at the bite, then cried out, nothing feigned at all this time. Her fingers clung more tightly to the table, hips shoving back as she fucked him back, feeling bruises forming against her hipbones, fading, then blooming all over again.

He grunted with each thrust, felt the table move under them. One of his hands went into her hair, pulled her head back, to give him better access to her neck. He sucked on her skin, wanting to mark her, no matter how temporary it might be.

Claire kept moving with him as long as she could, legs trembling as he kept pushing her higher and higher up the table. Her feet were just about dangling off the floor by the time she stopped trying to move with him and just let him fuck the hell out of her.

When he came, he growled low in his throat and fell still. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against her shoulder, and whispered, "I'm sorry." Then he withdrew, took a few steps back, and leaned heavily against the wall.

She didn't move--she wasn't sure she _could_ move. She just closed her eyes and set her head down against the table, breathing hard, fingers still clamped tight to the edge of the table.

He stepped close again, ran his fingers up the back of her thigh. "When was the last time you had an orgasm, Claire?" he asked, as if he was asking her what the latest weather report was.

Claire keeps her eyes closed, feeling goose bumps rising up against her skin as Nathan's fingers traced along her skin. "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice hoarse.

He rubbed two fingertips over her clit. "Doesn't it?" His touch was soft, teasing; stark contrast to how rough he'd been not minutes before.

A shiver ran up her spine as she felt the soft touch of his fingers rubbing against her, the inside of her thighs slick, the smell of him making her dizzy. She shook her head, eyes squeezing even tighter shut. "No, it doesn't," she whispered, even more quietly. "You don't have to. It's not part of your payment."

With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one more bill, tossed it on the table. "There," he said. His fingers kept moving; still light, still teasing, and god, he wanted to see her come.

That wasn't what she meant--she wasn't asking for more money, just trying to tell him that he didn't owe her money _and_ an orgasm, but somehow she hadn't said it right. She opened her eyes, lips parting to try and explain again, but all that came out was a whimper as his fingers kept rubbing against her.

"That's it," he murmured. "I just want you to feel good, too. So when was the last time, Claire?"

She stiffened as he asked her again, biting her lip and mumbling something, wishing he'd just leave it alone.

"Claire..." He leaned over her again and whispered in her ear, "Tell me. You don't want me to stop, do you?"

Some of her did. A lot of her didn't. The rest didn't have a fucking clue. "Never," she finally whispered, opening her eyes and staring at the wall.

"Never? Then I hope you enjoy this..." He kissed her neck. There was a little thrill at that, at being the first one to bring her off.

"You don't... you don't have--ohhh," she whimpered again, rocking back against his fingers, moving with him.

"I don't have to, but I want to. I want to make you come. Just give in to it."

She cried out again, very softly, her body a strange combination of relaxed and tense. Her movements were fluid, but her stomach was tight, muscles coiled, a tingling sensation starting to spread through her body. "Nathan..."

"Shh," he whispered. "It's okay. I want to do this. It's really the least I can do. Let go, Claire."

Another sobbed breath, and she let go, pleasure spiraling through her body as she writhed against Nathan's fingers. She kept shaking and shivering, tears pricking behind her eyelids as she kept moving, not entirely sure she could stop. It wasn't in her control anymore.

He kissed her shoulder, then pulled back again. And walked away. "Feel free to shower. I'm off to bed."

As his hands pulled away, she slowly stopped moving, letting go of the table and sliding down to the floor, kneeling on the money Nathan'd dropped at her feet. She nodded, wrapping her arms around her waist, skirt still hiked up over her hips. Trying not to think. "Goodnight," she murmured.

Halfway to the bedroom, Nathan stopped. He closed his eyes a moment, then turned back to the kitchen. "C'mon," he said, simply.

She looked lost in thought, taking a moment or two before she even recognized that Nathan had spoken and looked up at him. "Come on?" she repeated.

He held out his hand. "Let's get you showered."

Claire hesitated again, then reached up and took his hand, letting him help her off the ground. She tugged her skirt back down ever her hips, not sure why she was even bothering, considering she was about to get in the shower, but she just felt wrong walking around like that.

He squeezed her hand and didn't let go; guided her into the shower even though she knew where it was, leaned down to turn on the faucet for her. But he didn't look at her again, not yet. Didn't say a word, either.

She didn't let go of his hand until he'd gotten the shower going, feeling oddly shy considering that he'd just fucked her for the second time, into a table, no less. Looking down, she started working her way out of her clothes, her hands feeling clumsy, awkward.

He turned to her, and gently pushed her hands away. He was careful with her clothing, taking his time, and his hands were steadier than hers. But he wouldn't make eye contact, just watched his hands work.

She let her hands fall to her side after Nathan pushed them away, not trying for eye contact either, just watching him undress her, shivering a little as he stripped the last of her clothes away.

He looked at her mouth as he lifted a hand to her hair, brushing it back from her face. "Claire..." He took a step back and tugged his shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor; the rest of his clothes followed, then he pulled her into the shower with him.

Claire moved easily, letting Nathan pull her into the shower with him. She went right under the stream of water as soon as she was in, automatically reaching for the faucet and trying to turn the water up hotter, lifting her face up into the spray and closing her eyes.

He reached around her and grabbed her wrist. "I can't heal if I get burned," he murmured. There was an odd catch in his voice. He reached for a face cloth, put it under the spray, and turned her to face him. Gently, he washed her face, one hand in her hair. "Even if it's just for five minutes, let me take care of you."

She stiffened a little as he said that, almost pulling away before she stopped herself, biting her lip, then relaxing, going still. She could give him that, for five minutes, anyway.

The soap and sponge were next, and soon he was on his knees in front of her, scrubbing right down to her feet. He had to suppress a strange, wild urge to tickle, and then he sat back on his heels and looked up at her, silently.

Claire looked down at him, black hair looking out of place, artificial. Her hand reached out, stopping just shy of touching his cheek. "Is this real?" she whispered, the sound of her voice surprising her.

He closed his eyes and pulled her a little closer, rested his cheek against her belly as his arms went around her. "It's real, Claire."

One hand moved through Nathan's hair as Claire nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her. "Okay... okay," she murmured, not sure she completely believed him, but deciding that it didn't matter. This moment, real or not, she was going to keep it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I shouldn't... shouldn't have..."

"Don't--don't." She actually covered his lips, stopping him from saying anything else. "Please, don't."

He closed his eyes and sucked her fingers into his mouth. He was certain he'd told himself not to think, at some point. Or maybe he didn't. He couldn't remember; everything was strange, and jumbled, and he didn't want to let her go, not now he had her in his arms.

She watched his mouth, a soft sound coming from her as she felt the suction around her fingers. She didn't know what was happening, or why, or what any of it meant. And she couldn't shake the fear that she'd wake up tomorrow and be the only one who remembered what had happened.

Moments later, he opened his eyes. His knees were protesting, and he groaned faintly, and got to his feet. "Are you ready for bed?" he asked.

One last rinse under the water, and Claire nodded, tempted to turn the hot water all the way on for at least a few seconds, managing to keep herself from it, but only barely. "I'm pretty tired," she admitted.

"So am I," he said. He reached around her again, shut off the faucet, and reached for towels. He wrapped one around his waist and used that same care and gentleness he had washing her, to get her dry. He dropped a kiss to her shoulder before stepping away to rub his own skin dry, leaving it rather on the pink side.

It had been more than five minutes, but even still, she didn't protest or argue when Nathan dried her off, allowing the gentle touches. She watched him for a few moments as he started drying himself, eventually walking over to find her hairbrush, untangling her hair and brushing it back from her face, even her bangs.

He stood behind her, bending forward to press kisses along her shoulder. This wasn't right. Everything he'd done--every touch, every glance, everything--it was wrong. She should make him stop. He knew she should.

Claire set the brush down on the counter and reached for the shirt she'd been sleeping in. Peter's shirt. She held onto it with both hands, looking up and looking at the both of them in the mirror, then looking down again. Not able to meet her own eyes.

He pulled away; hung the towels over the curtain rod, then took her hand again to pull her to the bedroom, not giving her the chance to put the shirt on. He didn't bother putting on pajamas, just slid into the bed. "You don't have to sleep on the couch," he said.

She looked very, very uncertain, hanging back and chewing on her lip again. A few long moments went by before she climbed into bed beside Nathan, balling up the shirt she was still holding and snuggling it into her arms, holding on tightly.

He rolled onto his side, facing away from her.

When he dreamed that night, they were in the alley again. Peter was watching them. When it was over, Peter shoved him against the wall and kicked his legs apart, fucked him hard. And then Claire and Peter walked away, hand in hand, leaving Nathan alone.

*


	7. Chapter 7

Nathan didn't have a hangover when he woke up. He made his way into the kitchen after pulling on a pair of pants and washing his face. He made a real breakfast, even though it was past noon; bacon and eggs and toast, and waited for Claire for a while, but eventually things were going to get overcooked to the point where nothing was edible, so he sat down to eat by himself.

An hour later, and his gaze lingered on the unfinished wine bottle.

Claire woke up feeling disoriented, tangled in the sheets and blankets, starting awake, then gradually relaxing again when she realized where she was. She pulled the sheet back up to her chest, even though Nathan wasn't in the room, and used her free hand to search under the covers for Peter's shirt, pulling it over her head before she padded out into the kitchen, bed headed and looking for food.

"Hey," Nathan said. "Breakfast's all waiting for you. Eat up--it shouldn't be too cold yet."

"Hey," Claire murmured back, still looking drowsy as she found herself a plate of food, carrying it to the table and starting to eat. "Real breakfast," she sighed, looking blissful, and not caring at all if it wasn't hot.

"Yeah," he said. "Real breakfast." He looked up from the Sudoku puzzle he was working on, stared at her a moment, then looked down again.

"All that's missing are grits," she murmured around a bite of eggs, only letting herself think about the breakfasts her mom used to make for a few moments before she gave her head a slight shake, not wanting to dwell there.

"You can make those yourself," Nathan said, smiling a little, going back to the puzzle. He didn't know how Peter could be so obsessed with these. Give him a crossword any day.

"They're not the same here... LA either. It's a Southern thing," she shrugged, finishing her bacon, then licking her fingers, even though she knew that was gross.

"I guess so." His gaze was drawn away, just beyond her shoulder, to the wine bottle on the counter again. He got up, grabbed it, and shoved it into the cupboard where the canned goods were kept.

Claire smiled, literally biting her lip to say something about being proud of Nathan, since she was fairly sure he'd take it badly. "Is there coffee? I can make some," she suggested, unfolding herself from her chair and heading into the kitchen to poke around.

"Yeah," Nathan said. "Yeah, coffee's a really good idea." He went back to the stupid puzzle, then tossed it aside and reached for the word puzzles again.

"I never got the hang of those," Claire said, going up on her toes to get things out of the cupboard, then starting to make coffee. "I never did that well in math. I heard it was genetic."

"Maybe," Nathan said, a little dubiously. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Not you... Meredith," Claire said, then changed the subject. "I think so, yeah. I didn't dream, for once."

"Lucky girl," Nathan said, also not wanting to discuss the issue of Meredith. But he also didn't want to talk about his dream.

"Strong, or really strong?" Apparently they weren't hitting on any safe topics this morning, which was probably what happened the morning after you fucked your biological father. Go figure. "The coffee."

"Just strong, thanks. There's sugar in one of those containers under the microwave. I think it's the one with the Yankees logo on it."

Claire wrinkled her nose at the mention of 'Yankees', but declined to comment, even though she did pull the container out and set it on the counter, finishing the coffee and starting the machine up. "I don't think there's much milk though."

"No?" Nathan got to his feet and peered in the fridge. "Ah, there's enough for coffee. I'll pick some more up tomorrow after breakfast." He was feeling lazy today.

However, once the afternoon was wearing into evening, he found himself restless. He kept thinking about that wine bottle.

Claire'd settled in on one end of the couch, feet tucked up underneath her as she watched reruns of _Friends_ from back in the first season. "Monkeys creep me out," she muttered, leaning her cheek on her hand.

Nathan got to his feet and started pacing. "I'm going to go get that milk now," he announced, grabbing his wallet and shoving it into a pocket. "It won't wait until the morning. I'll be back in a bit." Without another word or a backward glance, he hurried out.

She turned her head to watch him go, then turned back to the television, giving it a full minute by the clock before she clicked it off.

*

Nathan returned to an empty apartment. He ate dinner alone, then made up another plate for Claire and put it in the fridge. He sat down in front of the TV to wait.

And wait. And wait. Until all that was left to watch were infomercials (after a while, he actually started to wonder if he needed ProActiv).

Claire'd pushed it as late as she could, until she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, she was so tired. The logic being that if she did it that way, maybe, just maybe, Nathan would be asleep when she got back, and they could keep up the pretense they'd managed so well that afternoon. She stopped in front of the door and fished out her key, fumbling with it as she worked on getting the door unlocked.

Nathan heard the lock. He'd spent the night wondering if she was actually going to come back; if she did, if it would only be to get her few belongings. He took a deep breath, but stayed on the couch where he was.

She stepped quietly as she walked into the apartment, locking the door carefully, then leaning down to take off her boots, having to lean on the door to keep herself upright. Setting them down beside the door, she stood up again, fiddling with the hem of her skirt for a moment or two, then padding toward the kitchen.

Nathan closed his eyes and listened to her move through the kitchen. He imagined other men's hands on her; he hated the thought. He hated his jealousy. He remembered last night, that elephant in the living room they'd avoided so well all day. He opened his eyes again and watched for her.

She kept the routine she'd set over the past few nights... washing her mouth out, then drinking a full bottle of water, leaving the empty bottle on the counter. Taking the money she'd earned out of her bra, and peeling off a number of bills, setting them on the table for Nathan. Food, rent... booze. Whatever. He wasn't drinking in front of her as much anymore, which probably meant he'd spent the evening in a bar like the one she'd found him in. Rubbing her eyes, she started for the bathroom, stumbling a little on the way, and pausing to hold herself up against the wall, then continuing.

"Claire."

Claire stopped, just short of the bathroom, holding on to the door frame, closing her eyes. "Yeah."

"Come here." His voice was quiet. Calm.

She didn't move. "I need a shower."

"I'm sure you do." He got to his feet and put his hand on her waist. He flicked on the bathroom light, squinted a little as he'd been sitting in the dark, then urged her inside. Again, he undressed her, watched his hands, didn't say a word.

Claire let the money drop to the floor with her clothes, closing her eyes even though she was already looking down. He wasn't drunk. Not that she could tell, anyway.

Again, he followed her into the shower. Again, he washed her clean, ending with her feet, with him on his knees in front of her. He looked up, at her face, expression neutral, unreadable. His fingertips moved up her thigh. "How many tonight?" he asked. "How many did you let fuck you without protection?"

It took a long time before she answered him, meeting his eyes for a moment, then looking past him again. "None."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Her voice was so soft, it could barely be heard over the water.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood, shut off the faucet, pulled her from the shower to get them dry as they dripped on the bathmat. "Bed, I think," he said, running his fingers through her hair.

She nodded quickly, not trusting her voice to speak right away. "Long night," she said eventually, pushing her wet hair away from her face.

"Yeah. You can barely walk." He guided her away to the bedroom, in the dark again, and helped her into the bed. He went around to the other side to climb in next to her, but in the next breath, he reached for her, tugged her close. "I want you," he whispered, slid his hand down over her belly. "I want to touch you."

Claire was exhausted, but she still shuddered when he touched her like that, her breath hitching at the feel of his fingers. "You didn't forget?" He hadn't said anything, and she'd thought... she didn't know what she'd thought.

"I remember everything. I fucked you on the table. I made you come." He pressed closer. "I want to fuck you again."

She moaned softly as he said that, remembering how it had felt, sensation spilling out through her whole body. "Nathan... what do you..." she trailed off, not sure what she was trying to ask.

"What do I..." He kissed her shoulder, licked her neck.

"Want. From me--how do you want me?" she finished, defaulting to what she knew.

"Like this," he said. He trailed his tongue down, over the curve of her breast, across her nipple. "Just like this." He nudged her legs apart and knelt there, between them, over her. _Oh God._

She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to gentleness, wasn't even used to being fucked in a bed. Claire stared up at Nathan, breathing faster, getting louder all the time.

"Claire." She deserved better. Better than _him_, better than the life she'd chosen for herself, better than the way he pushed inside her without any further consideration to her pleasure. But she was hot and tight and he _wanted_ her.

It hurt. Just for a moment, the pain almost gone by the time she'd tilted her head back and cried out, her back arching so much she wasn't even touching the mattress.

He groaned, shoved deep, kissed her shoulder. "Claire. Claire..."

Another soft cry from Claire, her legs coming up and cinching around his waist, holding on tightly. "Fuck me," she whispered.

He didn't hold back; fucked her hard, holding himself up above her. His arms shook, just a little, and he looked down at her, though he couldn't see her well enough in the dark. He wanted light--he wanted to see her face, he wanted to watch her come again. But he couldn't stop, couldn't move away now that he had her like this. "Claire."

She trembled beneath him, moving with him, fucking him back just as hard and fast as he was fucking her. She felt a surge of pleasure inside her every single time he said her name, lips parted as she gasped for air, barely getting enough.

"Yes," he said, "Claire, oh God, Claire." He closed his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek, making himself hold back. He wanted her to feel this, really feel this, and forced himself to keep going, as much as he wanted to stop and just give in to how fucking incredible she felt.

Claire barely managed to breathe Nathan's name, shaking even harder, her stomach tight, sensation creeping through her, pleasure coiling inside her. She moaned, pleading without realizing she was doing it, or truly knowing what she was asking for, the words slipping over her lips automatically.

He said her name, over and over, slipped one hand between them and rubbed his thumb over her clit. "Come for me," he whispered in her ear. "Come for me, Claire."

Her eyes flashed open, staring up at his face even though it was dark. She bucked up against him, pushing against his hand, instinctively seeking that last bit of friction, only needing a few more thrusts before she cried out and started to come, shuddering hard.

"That's it," he whispered. "Oh, fuck, yes. Claire!" He groaned, thrust hard inside her for another few moments, then he came with little more than a gasp. A shiver ran down his spine and he fell to the side, panting for breath.

Claire's legs gradually relaxed and fell away from Nathan's waist, chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to get her breath back. She stayed limp, completely played out, between this and the rest of her night, not even sure she was capable of moving if she wanted to.

After a moment, Nathan dragged the blankets up over them, and rolled onto his side. He was facing her this time, though he didn't touch her.

It was a long time before Claire shifted onto her side, drawing her knees up so high her legs were almost pressed up against her stomach, her arms wrapped around them. She didn't say anything, just watched Nathan, as well as she could in the dim light, a realization coming to her just before she fell asleep.

That was the first time anyone had ever had sex with her and it hadn't been for money. Ever.

*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****This chapter deals specifically with the aftermath of rape****

They fell into a strange ritual. Claire slept later than Nathan; he woke, made breakfast, they ate. They spoke only of mundane things. He'd go for groceries, or she would, and he'd make dinner. Sometime during the night, she'd disappear, and he'd wait for her. He wouldn't drink. He'd be waiting for her when she returned, and he'd take her to the shower, and they'd fall into bed.

Peter's bed.

Nathan tried not to think too much about what they were doing.

It was strange that it wasn't stranger. Broken down into it's parts, every detail of their lives, of what they were doing, separately and together, was just so irrevocably fucked up. Nathan wasn't drinking any more, at least not as far as Claire could tell, and Claire was eating properly--those were both good things. Everything else though... it was strange that it had become so normal. Almost commonplace.

He knew it was all wrong, but he couldn't make himself stop. He couldn't make himself _want_ to stop. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't right, but it was all he had. He grew anxious at night, waiting for her return, and he was always hard and aching for her by the time he heard the key in the door. He held her up against the wall in the shower and took her there, came immediately after she did, and not long after they curled up asleep in bed, not touching.

They never touched unless they were fucking.

Claire never thought of him when she was working, wouldn't let herself. Even though Nathan fucked her like the whore she was, she still wanted that one thing kept separate from the rest of her life. The one place where there might be pain, but there was always pleasure as well. Her hair grew longer, bangs hanging into her eyes, but she kept it dyed black, brushed it out dead straight. She didn't want to look in the mirror and see the girl she used to be.

The wine bottle stayed in the cupboard, unfinished, even though occasionally Nathan went in there to grab a can of something. Soup for lunch; broth for dinner. He enjoyed the cooking. Bought a few cookbooks, worried about possibly needing to either rob a bank or get an honest job.

And he still waited for her. She was all he had. He missed her blond hair; he wanted to know her smiles, her real smiles. He remembered the way she'd looked at Peter. He ached for Peter; he wondered if he ached for Peter the same way he ached for Claire. It was all lost and confused and jumbled in his mind.

She'd been lucky, and she knew it. Considering her size, considering what she was doing, and the risks that she took, Claire'd gotten away with only a few bad scares, and one or two tricks who'd fucked her without paying for it. She'd been hurt, but it never lasted long. The pain from getting fucked too hard would fade, a split lip or a brick wall scraped back, they healed quickly. Just going by the odds of the game she was playing, she was due.

They seemed to run on a schedule. Nathan wasn't telepathic or clairvoyant; the only way he knew something was wrong was because she was late. It was strange, but what wasn't? His anxiety to have her melted into worry; into anxiety about her not coming back this time.

It didn't hurt any more, but healing had taken a lot out of her, her steps slow and awkward, her feet bare. If she'd been thinking about it, she'd have wondered how she made it back to Peter's apartment without someone stopping her to at least ask if she was all right, considering that it was fully light out, and there were people everywhere.

Avoiding eye contact with anyone else, Claire stumbled into the apartment and down the hall, one hand holding her shirt together, the other one keeping her from falling down as she leaned heavily on the wall. Finally making it to the door, she leaned against it and started to look for her key, eyes closing as she fought back tears when she couldn't find it.

Nathan thought he heard something outside. He forced himself to his feet; his steps were heavy and slow, his eyes felt like they were full of sand. He opened the door without unlatching the chain and peered outside. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Claire, and quickly opened the door properly for her to let her in. He couldn't find his voice.

They'd stolen her shoes. She wasn't sure why they'd done it--if they'd thought they were worth something, if it had just been an extra bit of humiliation thrown in on top of it all, or if they'd thought it would slow her down, make it easier to find her again. She wasn't really sure. Claire's clothes were stained and shredded, barely hanging on her body they were so ripped, and there was dried blood all over her, her face, her arms, and all down the insides of her legs. "I lost my key." Her voice was so hoarse she was almost inaudible.

He closed the door. Locked it. Stared at her. He didn't have to ask. He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to think. "Jesus," he whispered, eventually.

She hadn't looked at herself, but judging by Nathan's face, it had to be pretty bad. She turned away, not wanting him to have to look at her, and started making her own way to the shower. Everything she was wearing was ruined--there was no salvaging it, and that meant having to take money out of what she'd been saving to buy more things. The shoes especially were going to set her back.

"Claire." Nathan followed her. "Claire, I..." He had no idea what to say. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently tried to make her turn around.

Claire flinched when he touched her, but let him turn her around, looking up, but not looking at him. There were tear stains tracked through the bloodstains on her face. She never let Nathan see her cry.

He closed his eyes as he pulled her close. "Why are you doing this?" he whispered.

"You asked me that before," she reminded him, speaking against his chest, eyes closing. Of course, even then, she hadn't told him the whole truth.

"And you never answered," he said. "And you've been--Claire I--I should kill them."

She just shook her head, leaning against him a little more. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "I can't be hurt." Even to herself, the words tasted of lies.

"You can be. And you feel pain until you heal. And you can't tell me that you can't be hurt in ways that aren't necessarily physical."

He wasn't wrong. Not even a little bit, and she flinched again, knowing that what Nathan was saying was true, and knowing that there wasn't much of anything she could do about it. "There were four of them. They..." she looked down, then tried to pull away from Nathan, too tired to make much of an effort. "You shouldn't touch me."

He wouldn't let her go, even though he tried to be gentle. "That's ridiculous," he said. "Just because..." He closed his eyes, shook his head. "God, Claire. I'm sorry."

She made one more attempt to get loose, then stopped trying, swaying in place and looking away from him. "They didn't use anything. You shouldn't touch me," she repeated, unable to look at him.

"Claire, stop. I'm not going to tell you it's okay now, but please, stop. Let's get you washed up and into bed. I... I won't... not tonight." He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Claire was crying, nearly silent as tears slipped down her cheeks. She never cried, certainly never when Nathan could see her. She didn't say anything, just nodded very slightly.

He stroked her hair and held her just a little tighter. "I'm sorry, Claire," he said. "I'm so sorry. I... God, this shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry."

She wanted to tell him to stop saying he was sorry--it wasn't his fault. She just couldn't find the words. "Can I have a shower? Please?" she whispered. The smell of her own blood wasn't something new to Claire, and it usually didn't bother her. This time though, she was only barely managing to hold back from being sick.

"Of course," he said, and, still holding her, led her to the bathroom. The shower was much like any of the others, but that sense of anticipation wasn't growing inside Nathan. He didn't rush; he took his time, careful and gentle and fighting back a growing sense of rage. He wanted to kill whoever had done this to her.

The tears kept falling, even though Claire still wasn't making any noise at all, her face practically blank as Nathan washed her clean. She kept from looking down, not wanting to see the pink-tinged water washing down the drain.

Nathan didn't know what he was doing. Evidence. Hospital. Charges. But he couldn't leave her like this, and besides--what evidence was there, now, of physical trauma, other than bloodstains? He had to hold back the rage. For now. And tell himself he wasn't already trying to figure out how to get revenge.

It had been ages since Claire'd tried to crank up the hot water in the shower after she'd come in from a night of work. She didn't even really register what she was doing as one hand reached behind her and started turning down the cold water, wanting to burn away every trace of the men who'd done this to her.

"Claire," Nathan said, sharply, drawing back against the far wall, "I don't recover from burns so well."

She lifted her head and looked blankly at him, needing a few seconds before she understood both what he was saying, and why. "I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching for the tap again and adjusting the temperature, making it colder than before. Once again, she went back to avoiding Nathan's eyes, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Don't apologize," he said, quietly. He stepped forward again, and took his time washing her hair. When he was done, he reached around her to turn off the faucet, then he helped her from the shower. He got her dry, dressed her in Peter's shirt, and took her to bed in the dark.

Claire walked like she was already in a dream, letting herself be dried, dressed, and led to bed without helping or reacting much at all. How could she explain feeling like she was broken when she was indestructible? It didn't make sense.

Nathan wrapped his arms possessively, protectively, around her. He closed his eyes, but couldn't sleep, not for a long time. When he drifted off, his dreams were angry, disconnected visions of violence and blood. When he woke in the morning, he knew what he had to do.

She fell asleep surprisingly quickly, too exhausted to dream, too tired to think anything about the fact that Nathan was holding her, touching her, even though they weren't having sex.

*


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****This chapter deals specifically with the aftermath of rape****

Nathan didn't act as though everything was "normal" when he went about the day. He made breakfast, and lunch, and tried to make sure she ate at least a little bit. But he didn't eat much, either, lost in his own thoughts, plans; he was in the apartment with her, but only physically, only as much as he could divide his attention between her and his own anger. It would be easier, once he was done.

Claire ate when she was told to, even though she wasn't hungry and gave up on whatever it was Nathan was offering her after a few bites. She was quieter than she'd been in ages, spending most of the day curled up on the couch, trying and failing to ignore the knot in her stomach that was threatening to make her sick. Every hour that passed was another hour closer to dark. To going out and doing it all over again. One thing Nathan had said was right. She did feel pain, until she healed. And she remembered all of it.

As the sun was going down, Nathan shaved. He combed his hair back, put on a dark suit, and dug around at the bottom of a box he had in Peter's closet. When he found what he was looking for, he tucked the gun into the back of his pants and went to stand at the side of the couch. "We're going out," he said.

She looked up at him and frowned. He didn't look like himself. No, that wasn't right at all. He looked like Nathan Petrelli, husband, father, brother, son, congressional candidate. But it was early yet, barely sundown, and they never talked about Claire going out--it just happened. And they didn't go out together. "I... " she gave up and just looked confused.

"Get dressed, Claire. Please."

Claire looked down at her clothes--jeans and a shirt of Peter's. Technically, she was dressed. Which meant he meant 'dressed'. "Work clothes?" she clarified, not yet ready to ask 'why'.

"Yes, Claire. Work clothes. Please. Can you be ready in... an hour?" he asked, looking at his watch.

She nodded, starting to climb off the couch, looking tiny in bare feet and wearing Peter's too-big sweater. "Less, probably. I'll get dressed." One more look at Nathan and she went to gather her clothes and went to the bathroom to change and get made up for the evening, using more makeup than usual. She looked more pale than normal, more nervous.

After a few moments, he went to lean in the doorway, watching her. "You'd recognize them, wouldn't you?" He tried not to sound angry, or accusing. But there was something in his tone, something not quite right there.

Claire didn't have to ask who he was talking about. She kept focusing on her own reflection, but somehow never really looking at _herself_. Staring at her lips, her eyes, her hair. Never the whole picture. "I'm not going to the cops." It was the only reason she could think that he was asking. She'd never be able to prove it. She was unmarked, and even with her stained and torn clothes, it was her word against theirs. She didn't have to tell Nathan what the word of a hooker was worth... he was a lawyer. He knew.

"No, we're not," Nathan said. "I'm going to take care of it myself. I just need you to help me find them."

It took a few moments before that sank in, what he meant by 'take care of it myself'. She turned away from the mirror and looked right at Nathan, not even sure what to say. "Nathan," she whispered, then stopped, her head shaking just a little bit, even though she couldn't find words.

"C'mon," he said. "We should get going. I'm not going to change my mind, and I can't find them on my own."

"I'm not worth you becoming a murderer over. Not for that. I'm okay now... not hurt, right?" It was true, and yet it wasn't. The haunted look in her eyes that had somehow never been there before, despite everything she'd done, that proved it.

"This is my decision," Nathan said. His tone still hadn't changed; soft, gentle, but detached. He'd already resigned himself to this. "I need to do this, Claire."

"Why?" Claire took a step or two closer, done getting ready now, right down to the condoms in one side of her bra.

"Because they hurt you," Nathan said. Wasn't that all that mattered?

"Everyone hurts me." The words came automatically, almost absently.

Nathan flinched and looked down. "I need to do this," he said. "I need to, Claire."

She kept watching Nathan's face for a long time, even after he looked down, considering what it was he was asking her, refusing to let herself be ignorant to what it was he meant to do. Surprisingly--or maybe not so surprisingly--unbothered by it. She couldn't work with them out there, couldn't walk down the street always wondering if she'd feel a hand grabbing her arm and have it all happen over again. Still. "You don't have to," she murmured, giving him one more out.

"Yes, I do," he said. He felt calm, ridiculously, frighteningly calm. "I have to do this. For both of us."

Another few moments of looking at him, and Claire nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just point them out to me when and if we see them. I'll take care of everything else. I'll fix it."

_What if something happens? What if you get caught? I can't lose you too._ Claire just swallowed hard and nodded again. "Okay. We can go."

"We won't get caught," Nathan said, as if reading her mind. "I can just... fly us out of there. No one will know."

A third nod, and Claire closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath and relaxing, a different person looking back at Nathan when she opened her eyes again. "Lets go," she murmured, her voice low, sexy. The girl Nathan'd met in the bar all that time ago.

"That's my girl," he whispered, and took her hand. He was still calm, and that calm wasn't going to waver.

She kept a hold of his hand until they made it out of the building, then let go, moving a bit out in front of him so she could lead the way. There was more than a bit of a sway in her hips as she walked, managing the mile-high heels as though she was walking barefoot.

He kept his hands in his pockets, watching her, watching the people who watched her--and waiting. He thought, perhaps, he should be frightened. Logically, he should be anxious. He held on to his anger--it fuelled him, kept him focused, kept him going. It's all he had, right now.

Even though she was looking for them, it happened the way she thought it would. They found her first--a huge hand closing around her wrist and jerking her sideways and down into an alley, barely even enough time to gasp or cry out before she was thrown up against a wall.

And then the gunshot. They hadn't even realized Nathan was nearby. Three more, in rapid succession, and the silence out on the street. Lights turning on. He'd think about this later. About the repercussions.

Maybe.

He stepped over one of the men--the body that used to be a man, no longer breathing, staring vacantly, missing a part of his head where Nathan had shot him--and he put his arm around Claire's waist and they were gone. He wasn't sure why he took her to the rooftop of the Deveaux building.

She didn't remember that gunshots were so loud. It wasn't like it was on television, which she really should know, but considering that she was the one who got shot the last time, she just didn't remember how loud it was. Logically, she knew that her ears weren't still ringing, that even if there had been damaged, it was healed long before Nathan set her back down on the ground again, but she just kept hearing the shots, one after another. It should be bothering her how much more she cared about the fact that Nathan had just gotten blood on his hands for her sake than it was that four people had just died. She really didn't care about that part.

He pulled her into his arms, properly, and closed his eyes. "It's over," he said, though he didn't know if he was saying it to her, or to help himself. "It's over now. They won't hurt you again."

She buried her face against his shirt, not caring for the moment that she was probably getting makeup all over it, feeling herself start to shake as Nathan held her tightly. "What if someone saw? What if they come for you?"

"They won't. I'll have a meeting with Parkman tomorrow. He'll take care of everything."

Claire didn't look so sure. At the heart of him, Parkman was a cop, after all, and he'd arrested her. He might arrest Nathan.

"We'll be okay," Nathan said. He stroked her hair. "I promise. I think we should head home. Get a good night's sleep. What do you think?"

She wanted to--God, she wanted to--but she hesitated, still pressed up against Nathan's chest. "I haven't made any money yet," she reminded him, very quietly. They didn't talk about this--ever. Not really.

"It's okay," he said. "We'll be okay for a while, Claire. I promise."

She shook her head, hair falling into her face. "I have to... I can't stop, I have to keep doing it," she murmured, reminding herself, as much as telling Nathan.

He sighed. He knew this wouldn't fix itself just like that. "Let's go home," he said, and gathered her up in his arms. The building fell away beneath his feet, and soon they were on the roof of Peter's apartment building. The door leading inside was unlocked, and he held her hand as they made their way down the stairs.

Claire was exhausted, the adrenaline hangover hitting her hard and fast as they walked into the apartment. She kept holding on to Nathan's hand, reaching down with her free hand to get out of her shoes, tossing them aside.

He washed her face for her, but didn't bother with the shower tonight. He left their clothes on the floor, even though that was one of his better suits, and took her to bed after dressing her in one of Peter's shirts. "Can you forgive me for wanting to protect you?" he asked, quietly, stroking her hair as he cradled her against his chest.

She nodded against his chest. "They'd done it to other girls," she whispered. "If ... if Matt needs proof, or more of a reason for why you did it, take my clothes into him. They're in a bag under the sink."

"Good," Nathan said. "Good, I'll do that, sweetheart. I'll take care of everything, I promise."

"What if he takes you away?" Claire looked scared again. "You can't go to the police station, you can't."

"Then I'll have him come here."

That wasn't a lot better, since Claire didn't want to see him, but she didn't know what else to do, her body stiff with tension. "Can you go to his place? Or... I don't know. I don't know," she repeated.

"You can stay in here, Claire. I'll just meet him in the kitchen. He doesn't have to see you."

She didn't say anything, completely still and quiet, even as a few tears slipped over her cheeks.

He stroked her back. "Shhh. I'll make everything all right. I promise, Claire. I won't break that promise."

Claire nodded just a little and wriggled closer to Nathan, closing her eyes and holding on. She'd already forgotten that only two days ago, they barely even touched, unless they were fucking.

"Go to sleep," he whispered. "Or at least try. I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise? Please? Just for tonight, promise?"

"I promise, Claire." He kissed her head. "I'm not going to leave you."

It was almost imperceptible, but Claire relaxed, even though her grip on Nathan stayed tight. A few more minutes and she drifted off into a restless sleep.

*

Nathan handed Parkman a cup of coffee, took another from himself, and leaned against the counter. "Thanks for agreeing to see me," he said.

"It's no problem... I was glad to hear from you," Matt said, taking the coffee, but not taking a sip just yet. Nathan's looking better than the last time Matt saw him--a hell of a lot better.

"You were? I'm a little surprised by that."

"Well... you didn't look like you were doing so well the last time I saw you," Matt admitted. "I was hoping things had changed, honestly, and you look different."

"I wasn't doing well, no. But things are... let's say they're different. Claire's still... walking the streets. She was raped." Nathan took a sip of his coffee. "Four guys. I thought I'd tell you where the bodies are." Why bother beating around the bush?

Matt just about dropped his coffee, swearing as he spilled it on his hand. Setting it down on the counter, he gave his hand a shake and looked at Nathan, half-wondering if this was some kind of joke that wasn't translating properly... but no. That didn't make sense. "Jesus--what the hell?" he demanded. "How the hell did she do it--she's almost as small as Molly! And why is she still _hooking_?" That wasn't what was supposed to happen.

"She didn't," Nathan said, calmly. "I did. And why? I honestly couldn't tell you for sure. She's stubborn." _Gets that from me._

He kept staring at Nathan, at a loss for words for more than a few moments. "You asked me over here... you've just admitted to killing four people, Petrelli, what the hell is the matter with you? I'm a _cop_, damn it!" He'd caught the stray thought from Petrelli, but it didn't make sense.

"I had to do it," Nathan said. "They hurt her, but she's a prostitute. Where'd the justice come from? You're going to make things neat and tidy, Parkman, and nobody's going to come after me."

"This is insane," Matt said, more to himself than to Nathan, giving his head a shake. "What the hell am I supposed to do--you think I can just make things neat and tidy? What they did was wrong--obviously--and I wish to God it hadn't happened, but you can't go around killing people, Petrelli!"

"If someone did that to Molly?" Nathan asked. Still calm. Cold. Rational. He didn't quite feel like this was real. "You'd do the same thing, Parkman, and you know it. Pretty Mohinder wouldn't be able to talk you out of it."

Matt's hand curled into a fist and he only barely--barely--kept from punching Nathan across the face. He looked away and took a deep breath, cursing the fact that the man was fucking _right_. "So what happens if she keeps hooking and someone hurts her again? Are you going to kill everyone who gives her money for sex? Am I gonna keep getting phone calls where you think I can just bend the law just because it's you?"

"No," Nathan said, "not everyone. I can't make any promises if she's gang-raped again, but I can promise that I'm not going to turn into an over-protective, trigger-happy maniac."

He dropped into a chair, rubbing at the burn on the back of his hand and looking tired. "Is there anything unique or special about the gun? Anything that ballistics is going to be able to trace back to you? And where's her father? Her mom, anyone? She's staying with you, why the hell is she still selling herself?"

Nathan kept leaning against the counter. "No; I have no idea; and, I told you, I still haven't worked that part out yet. I don't know why she's doing it. I don't know where the Bennets are. And there's nothing special about the gun, just in case you didn't follow."

Matt just sat for awhile, running things over in his head. "I need the gun," he said finally. "I can get rid of it... make sure it never gets back to you. How sure are you that you had the right guys--that no one saw you?"

"You can have it," Nathan agreed. "I _know_ I had the right guys, but I can't be entirely sure no one saw us."

"You took her with you, didn't you? Made her ID them for you?" Matt didn't need Nathan to answer. "Right, because she's not screwed up enough from everything that's happened to her, now she's seen you kill four people."

"I needed her to be able to show me who they were," Nathan said. "I wasn't just going to go kill four random guys."

"Well, thank goodness for that," Matt said sarcastically. Of course, there were a dozen things Nathan could have done differently--gotten her to ID them, then taken them out at another time, something less dramatic, something that could have given the two of them more of a guarantee that they hadn't been seen by someone. But the last thing Nathan needed was tips on how to do it again sometime. "This is a one time deal."

"Sure," Nathan said. "One time. I promise."

Matt wasn't entirely sure he believed him, but it was as good as he was going to get. "So... how is she?" he asked, softening a little and letting his concern for Claire show.

"She's not doing so well," Nathan said. "Frankly, neither am I. Things aren't exactly roses, and we're not playing out _Pretty Woman_."

God, Matt certainly hoped not. Nathan was old enough to be Claire's father. "Is there anything I can do? Or Mohinder... God, she's just a kid, you know? She's already had to deal with more crap than most adults ever have to, and that was before all this."

"Yeah, I know," Nathan replied. "But I don't know what anyone can do right now. If something comes up, I'll let you two know. Maybe you can try seeing if you can track down Noah Bennet."

"Okay... I'll see what I can do," Matt promised. He really didn't want to have to be the one to tell Noah Bennet what had happened to his daughter. "Anything else I need to know about the four guys?"

"I don't know anything else myself," Nathan admitted. "I didn't ask her a lot of questions."

"I'm half surprised she even told you at all," Matt admitted.

"It was difficult to miss," Nathan said. "She was..." He shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Right... I'm sorry," Matt said quietly, sorry for asking, and sorry that it had happened.

Nathan nodded, then picked up the bag on one of the kitchen chairs, handing it over. "These are the clothes she was wearing. In case you need them."

Matt could see the bloodstains even through the bag, shaking his head as he took it. "Where is she now?"

"She doesn't want to see you."

"Right... I guess I can't blame her," Matt sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. "I guess I've got some work to do, don't I? Give me the gun, any bullets you've got left from that batch, and I'll get out of your way."

Nathan nodded, then fetched the gun and ammo, which he handed over. "Thanks for this," he said. "I appreciate it."

"Just... take care of her, all right?" Matt tucked them into his inside pocket, after making sure the safety was on. Mohinder was going to have a complete _fit_. "Call if there's anything you think we can do." Hopefully not having to cover up any more murders, for Christ's sake.

"I will," Nathan said. He walked Matt the couple of feet to the door, then turned to go sit on the couch and wait for Claire. He idly flicked through the channels on TV, not really up to watching anything. That feeling of calm was starting to fade.

*


	10. Chapter 10

Claire'd been walking in front of the door for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for Matt to come back out. Once he'd come out of the building and was well down the street, she headed back inside, bundled up in her jeans and flip-flops and Peter's sweat shirt, the hood covering her hair. She paused in front of the door and bit her lip, then knocked, since she hadn't been able to get a new key cut yet.

Nathan got to his feet and hurried to the door. He pulled it open, and stepped back to let her in, locking it again. "It's done," he said. "Everything's taken care of. I promised, right?"

Her shoulders relaxed as soon as Nathan started speaking, an audible sigh coming from underneath the too-big hood. "Good... I'm glad," she said, peering up at him. "I was scared. I didn't think he'd go for it."

He pushed the hood off her head and stroked his fingers through her hair. He was suddenly very aware of how dry it was frying being dyed so much. "He did. Thank God." Gently, he pulled her against him.

She closed her eyes and let him pull her in closer, some of the tension she'd been carrying starting to ease out of her. "You shouldn't have done that for me. But... thank you."

"It's done now and I can't undo it," Nathan said. "Just like a lot of things. But we can start from here." He kissed the top of her head. "If that's what you want."

"I can't go backward, and I can't die. That leaves going forward."

"I guess it does." He stroked her cheek as he stepped back. "Want me to make some lunch? Soup, grilled cheese?"

Claire nodded, almost smiling for a moment. "I'm hungry." She hadn't eaten properly in a couple days. "Was he mad?"

"I can't say that he was quick to congratulate me on a job well done," Nathan replied as he started rummaging through the kitchen. His stomach was now officially tying itself into knots, so he poured himself a glass of ginger ale. It was flat. Probably better that way.

"He's a cop. One of the good guys," Claire said, climbing onto one of the kitchen chairs and pulling her knees up to her chest. If Parkman was one of the good guys, she wasn't exactly sure what she was, or Nathan. Something else though. Something tarnished.

"Yeah, I guess he is. Like Peter. Or Mohinder. What's that make me?"

Claire rested her chin on her knees while she thought about it. "I think... no. It's stupid," she stopped, shaking her head.

He turned to look at her. "What?"

She didn't look at him, but after a few moments pause, she started talking again. "I remember reading something about how sometimes when people fight, in wars, or are like, cops who've seen really awful stuff, that it affects them, really badly. That they end up scarred, inside and out, sometimes. They can't be the same anymore. They get stuck there, where it's bad, even though they're living back in the world. Like there's blood and dirt on them that won't wash off."

"Yeah," Nathan said softly. "You didn't get a chance to meet Hiro, did you?"

She shook her head. "I thought I saw him, but I never met him."

"He saw right through me real quick. Perceptive guy. Told me I'm a villain." Nathan kept his back to her now, working over the stove and countertop. "He was probably right."

"No... I don't think so," Claire looked thoughtful again, still resting her chin on her knees. "I think you could be. I don't think you are. I think you've always got some light on you, even when you're in the shadows, but when you're out in the light, the shadows still cling."

"That's kind of you to say," Nathan told her.

"You came back," Claire reminded him. "A villain wouldn't have come back."

"I guess so," he said, shrugging a little. "How much cheese do you want?" _Nice changing the subject._

She somehow managed not to sigh. "Lots, please. I'm hungry."

"Can do. I started a grocery list--it's on the fridge. Add cheese to the list, okay?" Lists. Organization. That should help Nathan feel normal again. Get his life back. Or at least some of it; nothing would ever be right until Peter came back.

Claire nodded and unfolded herself from the chair, finding a pen and adding 'cheese' onto the grocery list. Playing with the pen, she looked out toward the window. "It's later than I thought."

"Yeah," he said. "Parkman was busy. Things to do, family to take care of, job, all that stuff. I guess this is dinner."

"I guess," Claire echoed. Dinner meant evening. Evening meant dark. Dark meant going back to work. "Maybe an extra sandwich then," she said, going back to her chair.

"Sure," he said, and quickly added two more sandwiches to the pan. He didn't want her to leave. Maybe he could stuff her so full of food she wouldn't want to leave.

Curling up again, she stared down at her nails, making a face at the chipped polish. She should have done something about that earlier. Very classy. "You should put shaving cream on the list too."

"Using it all up, are you?" He stepped away from the stove to write 'shaving cream' under 'cheese'. "Need condoms?" he asked. His voice sounded remarkably neutral.

"I get them from the clinic... they give them out for free," she told her fingernails, trying not to show that she was surprised Nathan'd asked. Which reminded her--she needed to make him an appointment to get himself checked out. He'd never used a condom with her yet, and it wasn't safe--for him.

"Fair enough," he said. He turned off the soup, poured it into two oversized mugs, put the sandwiches on plates, and served up dinner for them. He looked at her, for a moment, hoped she'd tell him she wasn't going to go. That she wanted to stay here with him tonight. Let him look after her.

A murmured thank you and another almost-smile, and Claire pulled her sandwich and soup even closer, dipping a triangle of sandwich into the soup and taking a bite.

Nathan watched her a moment longer, before turning to his own dinner. He was the one who'd suggested the meal, after all.

Claire ate quickly, partly out of hunger, and partly out of nerves. Wiping the crust of her sandwich around the inside of her bowl, she looked toward the window again. Twilight. She looked over at Nathan, not meeting his eyes or saying anything, then got up to clear her dishes to the kitchen.

He followed her a minute later, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I'm just going to go read," he said, and left it at that. He wasn't going to plead with her to stay.

She nodded, loading the dishwasher, then picking her clothes up from where she'd been keeping them beside the couch. Carrying them into the bathroom, she set them on the counter and stared at the mirror, willing her hands to stop shaking.

Nathan curled up on the couch, and read the same sentence about four times. He looked up, at the clock, then down at the page again. Five times. He felt a little sick.

Finally dressed, and far paler than normal, Claire started doing her makeup, having to stop every now and again to steady her hand. She'd gotten as far as outlining one eye before she started feeling sick, dropping down in front of the toilet only just in time before she threw up.

Nathan heard. He dropped his book and hurried to the bathroom. He stood in the doorway and waited a moment, before he said, "Claire, please."

There wasn't any response from Claire's side of the door, unless further retching counted as a response.

He tried the handle, found it unlocked, and stepped inside. He sat down on the floor behind her and rubbed her back. "Eat too fast?" he asked.

Claire wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tears streaking her cheeks as she trembled all over.

"God... Claire." He moved closer, brushed her hair back from her face. "I'm sorry."

She turned enough to burrow her face against his shoulder, her hands clutching at his upper arms. "I have to ... I have to..." she kept trying to speak, not able to get the words out.

"No, you don't," he said. "You don't have to, Claire. You don't." Perhaps the more he said it, the more she'd believe him.

"I do," she whispered, holding on even tighter.

"Why? I don't understand, Claire. You don't have to do this anymore. You've got me now."

"Until I lose you. Until you leave." Claire was shaking again. "Don't you see? Don't you get it?"

"What are you talking about?" Nathan asked, as gently as he could. "Claire, I'm not going to leave."

"Everyone says that. Everyone says that, and they're all _lying_," Claire looked up at him, frustrated tears covering her cheeks. "They go away, or they want you to kill them, or they want you to hide, and, and in the end, they all leave and I'm all alone."

He looked at her, helplessly, then buried his face against her hair. "I can't promise something awful won't happen," he said, "but I don't want you to keep having to do this to yourself."

"If I stop, I might not be able to start again. And what if I have to? What if you leave?"

Nathan shook his head. "I'm not going to leave."

Claire's head dropped forward, her hair covering her face as she started to cry again, quiet sobs shaking her body.

"I'm not going to leave." Nathan's voice broke as he stroked her hair. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Her arms went up and around Nathan's neck, holding on so tightly it had to be painful for him, but she couldn't make herself stop.

"Stay here tonight," Nathan whispered. "That's all I'll ask of you. Just don't go out tonight."

She was still shaking when she finally loosened her grip, the shoulder of his shirt wet from her tears as she pulled back. Claire didn't trust her voice at the moment, so she just nodded.

He gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you," he whispered, and helped her up to her feet. He washed her face--his own little ritual, it was important for him to do this--and left her to brush her teeth as he turned down the bed. He stripped himself down to his underwear, then sat on the end of the bed to wait for her.

Teeth and hair brushed, Claire appeared in the doorframe of Peter's room a few minutes later, Peter's sweatshirt hanging off of her, feet and legs bare. She leaned against the door and looked at Nathan, fingers tugging at the ends of her hair. "It's not very soft, is it?"

"No," Nathan said, "it's not. Over processed or something. I miss your hair."

"Because it was like hers?" Claire looked down again, black hair covering her eyes.

"Because it was yours," Nathan said. "And it was soft. Like Peter's."

"I cried when I cut it." Claire laughed self-deprecatingly. "I buried it. Stupid, right?"

He held out his hands to her. "No, it's not stupid."

She pushed off the doorframe and came over to Nathan, small hands reaching out for his. "In the park, under a bush. I didn't want to just throw it away."

He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers, but he didn't say anything as he pulled her against him.

Claire let him pull her in close, her head resting against his shoulder again, enjoying the feel of his bare skin against her cheek. "I feel weird," she whispered.

"Are you going to throw up on me?" he asked, before he could stop the question from slipping past his lips.

She actually laughed before she could stop herself, then shook her head, surprised that she'd done it. "No... no, not like that. I just feel... like I'm standing on the edge of a building, waiting to step off. But... not necessarily in a bad way."

"I know how you feel," he said, rubbing her back. "But I told you I'd take care of you, right? I won't let anything happen."

Claire nodded against his shoulder. "But you can't promise. We both know you can't promise."

"I want to. I wish I could."

She understood that. She also knew that she didn't want lies. "What can you promise?"

"To take care of you as best as I can."

"What about you?" Claire lifted her head and looked at Nathan.

"I don't need anything," he said, so quietly it was barely audible. _Liar._

"Yes. You do." If she didn't get to hide, neither did he. "Maybe I do need someone looking out for me... but so do you. We're both pretty fucked up, Nathan."

"Yeah, I suppose we are." He closed his eyes, then leaned his head against her shoulder.

"So what about you?" Claire asked again, touching his hair.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know what I want."

"But you want me to stay?"

"I want you to stay." He moved back, pulled her with him, urging her onto the bed. "Please stay."

"And you want me?" A very different intention behind the question this time.

"Yes," he whispered. "I want you."

"You're the first person who ever had me that didn't either pay or try and take me by force." She'd never confirmed it, although she was sure he knew.

He stroked her cheek, pulled the blankets up over them, flicked off the lamp. He didn't know what to say to that, so he kissed her forehead, and pulled her against his chest.

Her lips brushed against his chest, the ends of her hair just barely long enough to tickle at his skin. "I want to stay."

"Then stay," he said. "It's that simple."

There wasn't anything simple about any of this. Things stopped being simple a long time ago. But right now... it didn't really matter. "Okay."

"Okay," Nathan whispered. His fingers tangled in her hair.

She took a deep breath as she felt his fingers moving through his hair, strangely nervous now, which didn't make much sense. Not considering how many times she'd had sex, just in general, and with Nathan. But this felt different. She didn't want to be a whore, not this time.

Nathan took a shaky breath of his own as his fingers kept moving. He closed his eyes, and whispered, "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this."

"I can't," Claire whispered back. "Not unless you want me to lie."

He actually gave a faint whimper. "Then I'll do whatever you want. Anything. Just ask me."

She lifted her hand and brushed the tips of her fingers over his lips. "Do you mean that?"

He nodded. "Yes, Claire. I mean it."

Claire kept her fingers skimming over his lips. "I want to know what it's like to be fucked like I'm _not_ a whore."

He licked her fingers. "Do you want anything else from me?"

"Just don't leave. Don't leave me alone. And... and keep taking care of yourself." Because if Nathan started drinking again, God only knew where that would lead.

He nodded, then urged her over onto her back. "I won't leave, Claire. I need to be here for you." He leaned over her, kissed her, soft and slow and tender, fingertips moving lightly over her arm.

The soft touches already have her well on the way to breathless, her hips lifting up off the bed as she settles onto her back, trying to move closer to him.

He pulled the shirt over her head, murmured, "It's all right, Claire. Let me take care of you," and slid down her body. His tongue moved over her nipple, over and over, and he pulled her closer and couldn't bring himself to let go. Not yet. He closed his lips around her nipple, sucked gently, one hand on her back, holding her against his mouth.

She let out a slow, shaky breath and settled back against the bed again, only to be lifted up and brought closer to Nathan's mouth. Claire whispered his name, gasping quietly as his lips kept working over her nipple.

"I want you on top tonight." Nathan lifted his head. "You can be in control." His thumb brushed over her nipple, and he smiled at her in the dark, though he was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to see him.

Claire's brow furrowed in confusion, understanding the words, but not quite getting it, even still. "You want me in control?" she repeated, breath catching as his thumb brushed back and forth.

"Yes," he said. "Would you like that, Claire?"

"I don't know... I... I'm not sure I've ever done that before," she admitted, sounding interested, almost shy.

"There's a first time for everything, Claire," Nathan murmured. He slipped his hand up the inside of her thigh, his touch light, and he rubbed his fingertips against her pussy as he swallowed hard. He closed his eyes a moment, lowered his head again, pressed kisses over her breast. "I want you. God..."

"I want you," Claire whispered back, legs parting wider as his fingers slipped higher, her head going back as his lips moved over her breast again. "Don't stop... please?"

"Don't stop this?" he asked. "Don't stop touching you like this, or don't stop wanting you?"

"Both." Her eyes closed again, lips already forming the question she wasn't sure she wanted to ask. "Do you want me to tell you to stop? Do you not want to want me?" she asked, turning his question from a few minutes ago back on him.

He knew she should. He knew _he_ should. But he couldn't. He needed her desperately. "No, Claire. I don't want that at all." And then he slid down her body even more, between her legs, and he lifted her hips so he could taste her, tongue lavishing attention to her pussy as he moaned and closed his eyes.

Her eyes widened as he slid lower, lips forming a perfect 'o' at the first brush of his tongue. A deep moan from Claire echoed Nathan's, her hands going flat against the bed as she tried to push up even closer to his mouth, finding it hard to breathe.

He wanted one thing from her: her pleasure. He wanted her to come under his tongue, he wanted to hear her moan and cry out. He ached for it, almost as much as he ached to be inside her.

Claire was already moaning, words slipping away as Nathan kept going. It felt good in a way she couldn't have explained if she tried, somehow dirty, but not in a bad way. Decadent.

She wasn't making him stop; that was all that mattered. He moaned, again, tried to draw her ever closer, tried to ignore his own desperate arousal. It was all he could do--just keep going. Wait for her. He'd keep waiting.

Time slipped away to the same place words had, Claire's cheeks flushed pink, her body moving wantonly against Nathan's, as much as she could anyway. She couldn't stop moaning and crying out even if she'd wanted to, every sound coming out of her completely sincere. She was too far gone for any pretense. She was so overwhelmed that her release all but took her by surprise, a sharp cry breaking out of her as she came.

Nathan pulled away, gasping for breath. He almost felt like he was drowning, overwhelmed as he was, and he rested his cheek against her thigh. He was shaking, and surprised by that, and he just couldn't move. He couldn't let her go--he needed so much that he was simply frozen. If he moved, it might all slip away.

Claire was shaking too, over sensitized and overwhelmed, even the brush of air across her damp skin making her shudder. She turned her head to the side, one of her hands finally lifting up and moving to touch Nathan's cheek.

He let out a strangled noise, turned his head, kissed her fingers. "Claire. Do you want me now? Please..."

She nodded quickly, then realized he might not be able to see her in the dark room, forcing herself to find words. "Yes... God, Nathan, yes, please?" she panted.

He crawled up the bed again and all but collapsed against her side before he pulled her on top of him. "Yes," he whispered. "Claire. Please, sweetheart." He closed his eyes a moment, swallowed, then put his hands on her hips. "Hurry."

Claire'd forgotten that Nathan wanted her on top, head spinning as he pulled her onto him, needing a moment or two before she could get herself moving. She murmured his name again, both hands moving to brace against his chest as she pushed herself up higher, trying to see his face in the dim light. She was so wet that he slid in easily when she pushed back against his cock, getting a gasp from Claire as she took him deep, leaning back a bit more, then going still.

He closed his eyes. His breathing was loud, very loud, in the otherwise quiet room. He ran a hand up her belly. "That's it," he said, only barely loud enough to be heard. "That's... that's it, Claire. God, please."

Her head fell back, lips parting with a groan as she felt his hand on her belly. She started to move, just a little to start, then more, fingers pressing harder against his stomach. "It's... good, Nathan, it's good," she whispered, licking her lips.

"Claire. Don't stop, Claire. Take what you want, please." He didn't know how long he could possibly hold back.

She smiled and kept going, experimenting, almost playing. How far could she lift up and still keep him inside her? How did it feel when she leaned back even more? Rolled her hips? Dropped down _hard_?

His breath came in short, desperate gasps. He kept his eyes closed, and his fingers tightened on her hips. "Claire!"

Claire liked that reaction, so she did it again, and again, and a-fucking-gain, moving faster and harder all the time. "Mmm?" she purred.

"Oh, _fuck_! Claire!" His fingers tightened even more, and he came, crying out wordlessly after shouting her name again. He was caught more than a little by surprise by how quickly and suddenly it was over, and he actually let out a little noise very like a whimper.

Another cry from Claire echoed Nathan's, feeling the pressure of his fingers against her hips, imagining the bruises that would be rising, then slipping away again. She pushed back against him one more time, then went almost still, just swaying a little in place.

"God. Oh, God. Claire." His eyes were still closed. He swallowed, shook his head. "Claire."

She smiled, finally opening her eyes and looking down at him, just barely making out his features in the dark. Her hand slid up to touch his face, brushing against his cheek, resting against his lips.

Another sound like a whimper, then he pulled her to him, held her close to his chest.

Claire shuddered as he pulled her in, feeling him shifting, still inside her. Her lips brushed his shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding on almost as tightly.

"Okay?" he asked, quietly. He shivered a bit, suddenly cold in the room, aware of the outside temperature, but he just couldn't move to get the blankets.

She nodded automatically, wrapping around him even more when she felt him shiver, not that she was big enough to be much good as a blanket. "Okay. Definitely okay."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too." He ran his fingers across her cheek. "We're going to be okay."


End file.
